Triangulation
by Ladybug21
Summary: Amilyn Holdo — by nature a rebel, not a diplomat — learns to navigate the terrain of Galactic politics during the interwar period with the help of her two closest friends: Senator Leia Organa of Alderaan, and Senator Tai-Lin Garr of Gatalenta. (Serious spoilers for both "Leia, Princess of Alderaan" and "Bloodline.")


Author's Note: For those of you who have not yet read _Leia, Princess of Alderaan_ , Claudia Gray's delightful Teenage Amilyn Holdo is infinitely more eccentric than the magnificent portrayal that Laura Dern brought to the big screen. A large part of my wanting to write this story was to explore how such a Luna Lovegood-esque character might have gradually developed and matured into the whimsical but steely leader that Holdo had become by TLJ.

Tai-Lin Garr was possibly my favorite new character in _Bloodline_ , and this story centers so strongly around him in large part to remedy the regrettable dearth of Tai-Lin fic out there. While reading the novel, I basically imagined Ken Watanabe as Tai-Lin, and, as Wookieepedia has since informed me that Claudia Gray did the same while writing the book, I have accepted this hypothetical casting as canon and invite you to do the same. (My headcanon for Gatalenta, as a result, now falls about halfway between Tokugawa-era Japan and the hippiest aspects of the San Francisco Bay Area. And yes, to be fair, the general aesthetic of "Star Wars" is a blend of feudal Japan and coastal California in the 1970s, plus westerns and Joseph Campbell. But since Gatalenta is _way_ more chill than any of the above, its borrowed attributes are more along the lines of Zen meditation and free love pacifism than of futuristic samurai armor and unsubtle anti-Vietnam War messaging.)

All rights belong to LFL, Disney, and Claudia Gray. Also, apologies in advance for heavy-duty Space Politicking, but Claudia Gray has set an impressive precedent in _Bloodline_ for writing super-engaging Galactic Senate politics, and I'm a sucker for political melodrama in any arena. (I also happen to believe that the prequels would have been infinitely better had they focused on Bail Organa and Padmé Amidala and Mon Mothma fighting nascent Space Fascism through their best diplomatic efforts, rather than on Anakin Skywalker monologuing about his hatred of sand — but that's neither here nor there.)

* * *

Triangulation

Amilyn is not at all surprised to hear that Leia Organa has been elected to the new Galactic Senate; in fact, she would have been completely shocked to hear anything but. The news first reaches her as she gathers up teacups from the tables in her parents' teahouse on Gatalenta. She has spent so much of her time over the previous six years keeping her head down, and her ears open to the conversations around her, that she almost can't help but pick up on the travelers' gossip about the political goings-on on Chandrila. (She is grateful, however, that her life and the lives of her friends no longer rely on her eavesdropping abilities.)

It's been some time since she's seen Leia; even longer since they were naïve and fearless young girls, scaling icy mountains and haphazardly orienteering their way back down, arriving for their first day in the Apprentice Legislature bright-eyed and filled with short-lived idealism. Amilyn misses the Alderaanian princess more than she would like to admit. Her friends from those days on Coruscant understood her as well as anyone ever has, and they accepted her far more readily than most. By comparison, her fellow Gatalentans regard Amilyn with something just slightly too polite to be considered hostility. To any off-worlder, their detached courtesy would seem considerate, but Amilyn knows every in and out of the subtleties in her planet's customs. She can tell when she is being slighted for her colorful hair and restlessness.

She does not realize that she has made up her mind about the Galactic Senate until she finds herself in the process of scheduling a meeting with the Council of Mothers. When asked about the purpose of the requested meeting, Amilyn comes perilously close to replying, "To get off this depressingly homogeneous planet as quickly as possible."

(In all fairness, Gatalenta is not lacking in diversity. The planet is known throughout the galaxy for its tolerance of different species and creeds — one of the purported reasons why the legacy of the Jedi has persisted in her home world when it was wiped out in so many others. In Amilyn's experience, the Gatalentans are more than willing to accept strangers from other worlds with open arms, and to live alongside them peaceably, without demanding conversion or assimilation of any kind. The one thing they cannot tolerate, however, is any deviance from their painstakingly preserved culture from one of their own young.)

The night before her meeting with the Mothers, Amilyn toys briefly with the idea of dyeing her hair back to its natural blonde. But as soon as the idea pops into her head, she quickly laughs it away. Her wardrobe does not contain a single article of the white or light gray clothing that typifies Gatalenta's traditional attire, so what would be the point? The Council was once willing to send her to the Apprentice Legislature as Gatalenta's representative, on the basis of her strong marks in school and an imaginative essay comparing the Gatalentan tea ceremony to interplanetary trade mediation, and all this in spite of the even more outlandish appearance she sported at that time. Surely she underestimates their willingness to reward ability over more superficial matters, to imagine that her appearance will have any impact on how this meeting will go?

Amilyn dyes her hair bright aquamarine. The next morning, she dons a sapphire dress and matching boots, and strides confidently through the complex of quiet courtyards surrounding the Council House, the _clack_ of her steps ricocheting discordantly off the smooth walls and disrupting the tranquil trickle of the fountains. Within thirty seconds of arriving at her meeting, she has no regrets about how she has chosen to dress, because it is clear from the demeanor of the single, wizened Mother who greets her with an apologetic grimace that her request was dead on arrival.

"It's not that we don't have confidence in you, my child," explains the Mother in a soothing voice, as she and Amilyn take a slower, less-percussive turn around an isolated courtyard. "By all accounts, you performed admirably in the Apprentice Legislature. But political circumstances have changed; Gatalenta might actually be able to initiate real structural changes and implement lasting policy in the new Senate, and..."

The Mother slows to a halt, the hem of her scarlet cloak whipping about her ankles as it registers the change in her momentum. She glances at Amilyn, who raises an eyebrow and lets the uncomfortable silence between them linger before completing the thought:

"And you don't think that I would be able to gain the confidence of enough Senators to be able to have any real impact... to make Gatalenta a real _power player_ , as it were, despite the fact that I have _already_ proven my ability to win not only allies, but even the _friendship_ of people like Leia Organa."

The Mother inclines her head as if contemplating the ripples in the fountain at their feet, but she does not deny any of what Amilyn has just said.

Amilyn sighs.

"Who are you endorsing, then?"

"Tai-Lin Garr," answers the Mother. "He's a very thoughtful, intelligent young man who has distinguished himself in local politics here on Gatalenta. Exceptionally even-keeled, and an excellent communicator."

"Of course," Amilyn says in a frustrated exhale, knowing that she appears neither even-keeled nor particularly good at communication, in this moment.

The Mother offers Amilyn a sympathetic little smile.

"I am sorry, Young Holdo," she says gently. "We in the Council admire your spirit, we really do. But we simply do not think that the majority of Gatalentans will wish for you to speak for them at this uncertain moment."

Amilyn practically tap-dances out of the complex in barely concealed fury, making as much noise with the heels of her boots as she can muster.

 _How_ dare _they discourage me from even running?_ she rants to herself that evening, as she tries to soothe herself with a cup of tea and finds even that process too classically Gatalentan to be calming. _Just you wait, Mothers. When you see me standing beside Leia Organa in the Senate one day, spearheading reform after reform and helping the galaxy to prosper, you'll be sorry you didn't back my winning campaign from the beginning..._

Then she turns on her holo and sees Tai-Lin Garr for the first time.

He's perhaps a few years younger than Amilyn, intense and handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes and burnished golden skin. He's dressed in the simple white garb of Gatalenta, save for the scarlet cloak thrown over his shoulder in an almost debonair fashion. Amilyn _hates_ how perfectly he looks the part of the classical Gatalentan gentleman. She is about to turn off the holo, and go drown her misery in whatever alcohol she still has smuggled away from the last time she was able to procure some from a Rebel crew that had landed to refuel and relay her latest leads... and then she takes stock of what Tai-Lin Garr is saying.

For one thing, the Mother was right in that the man is an excellent communicator. His rich and melodious voice lingers carefully but not ponderously over every measured syllable that he speaks. Slow, but not dull. More like a contemplative piece of music than anything else. And he is answering a question about the proper balance between centralized control and planetary autonomy, answering it not in the practiced tones of a politician whose aide has handed him a pad of talking points to memorize five minutes before the interview, but with the reasoned consideration of a man who has looked at the issue from all sides.

"I concede that a Galactic Senate with too little centralized authority would be nothing more than a Galactic Senate in name," his projected form says calmly to someone off-holo. "And, of course, it only makes sense to pool resources for collective measures, such as a defense system with the strength to combat external threats as well as syndicated crime organizations that have proliferated throughout the galaxy. But, at the same time, I firmly believe that primary political control should remain the province of individual planets. The Senate should have the right to create broad democratic standards for all of the worlds represented within it, but the planets themselves should have the autonomy to enact their own political measures consistent with those standards, in ways that best address their own cultures and needs. Besides, we need only look to our immediate past and the rise of Emperor Palpatine through ostensibly democratic means, to be reminded as to why too much centralized authority can lead to devastation..."

Amilyn clicks off the holo. She maintains the right to feel resentful about the entire situation, especially the fact that her candidacy was essentially discarded because she looks "wrong" for the job. But she feels ever so slightly better to know that at least the person who is likely to get the job she wanted, is apparently more than well-qualified.

Tai-Lin Garr wins election to the Galactic Senate in a landslide. By the time his ship departs for Chandrila, Amilyn has almost convinced herself that it's all for the best. She's thought long and hard about why she wanted to go to the Senate in the first place, and she can break her motivations down into three factors.

The first is the people that she met in the Apprentice Legislature. Yes, she would do more or less anything to have the chance to work alongside Leia again; but it wouldn't be the same, and Amilyn knows it. If she returned to a political body, part of her would be disappointed that it wasn't a mirror image of the one that she had previously inhabited, filled with all of her old friends — Leia, Harp, Sssamm, Chassellon Stevis, Kier...

(A lump inevitably rises in Amilyn's throat when she thinks about Kier Domadi. She makes herself a cup of her favorite tea from childhood and sips it slowly, taking several long, slow breaths between sips. Occasionally, she has to admit that the meditative background that a Gatalentan education entails is incredibly useful for dealing with the traumas of having lived through a war.)

Amilyn knows that she can't return to the past by going to Chandrila. So there's one rationale out.

The second is that whole matter of wanting to show that political success is possible, even for someone as unconventional as she is. Amilyn is _certain_ that she is not the only Gatalentan out there who has grown up feeling smothered by her culture's forced aesthetic austerity, and she wants to prove to others that their willingness to politely reject conformity is not something to be scorned, but rather something to be celebrated. Unfortunately, the political success that she wants to prove is attainable is still proving illusive for her, so Amilyn is beginning to suspect that the most effective line of action would be to stay in Gatalenta and try to break down some cultural taboos at home, before anything else.

And that leads neatly to her third motivation, which is that Amilyn Holdo still is deeply committed to putting her principles into action and helping as many people as possible. She had hoped that such goodwill would be extended throughout the entire galaxy, but if her short-term objectives have to remain focused on Gatalenta, then so be it. There's plenty of work to be done at home, and Amilyn feels she knows just where to begin. As she watches Tai-Lin Garr's ship exit the planet's atmosphere on the holo, she wishes him luck, and she smiles to herself at how the Council of Mothers will probably _wish_ they had sent her off to Chandrila, once Amilyn has first made herself indispensable to them, and eventually joined their ranks.

* * *

Amilyn would be the first to concede that her typical mode of communication is an acquired taste.

During the war, this came in handy; Leia was one of the few people who had ever bothered to untangle the poetic metaphors of what the princess had cheekily dubbed "Holdo-speak," and this made sending coded messages to the heart of the Rebellion laughably easy. Her friend reminds her of this as they catch up remotely one night, shortly after the Galactic Senate has convened for the first time.

"I swear, Amilyn," laughs Leia, pulling a final braid loose and swinging her unbound hair over her shoulder, "you are the only person I know who could have encrypted information about the Empire's attack plans on Hoth into a children's song about _tobogganing_. I've always meant to ask, are all Gatalentans so inclined to the dense use of allusion?"

"We're known for our poetry," Amilyn shrugs, "but I think the use of poetic elements varies in type and frequency from person to person. You're not above the use of simile yourself, you know — 'Hope is like the sun,' and so forth."

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment, thank you." Leia slips all of her hair pins into an ornately carved wooden box and tosses it somewhere beyond the boundary of the holoscreen. (Amilyn had heard that Leia had become much less rigid about styling her hair in formal Alderaanian fashion, as the war progressed, but it still occurs to her that she isn't used to seeing the princess with her hair down, in any sense of the term.) "I must say, Tai-Lin Garr speaks very well, but by comparison, his language is fairly prosaic. In the most literal way possible."

"I'm glad he's doing my home planet proud," replies Amilyn, slightly more stiffly than she had intended.

Leia, being Leia, notices.

"You don't like him?" she asks.

"I don't _know_ him," Amilyn corrects her. "Although I _do_ know that a more Gatalentan Gatalentan could seemingly not be found, if you searched the entire galaxy. He seems like a decent person, at any rate, and a thoughtful politician. As a matter of fact, from the little I've seen, he reminds me..."

Amilyn cuts herself short. In her less-resentful moments, she's realized that Tai-Lin Garr bears more than a passing resemblance to the late Bail Organa, in his rhetorical skill and calming charisma. But she's not sure that she wants to mention this to Leia, not just yet.

"Yeah, I've noticed," Leia says softly, as if she has read Amilyn's mind. "Well, let's just hope he's as sensible and honorable a man as he appears." She pauses. "And things are going well for you?"

Amilyn senses that Leia suspects some internal friction has occurred under the tranquil veneer that Gatalenta manages to drape over even its domestic politics. But she's not petty enough to turn her friend against Tai-Lin Garr, not when Leia has every hope of working well with him.

"Well enough," she answers, managing a smile. "I'm starting a new job at the Council of Mothers tomorrow. It should be interesting."

"Indeed." Leia's mouth twitches upwards as well. "And I wish you the best of luck. Just, selfishly, I also wish you were here."

Amilyn sensibly logs off before she can say anything that she might regret later.

The job at the Council is a low-level staffing position that mostly has to do with coordinating logistics for meetings and delegations. For being such a wealthy country, though, Gatalentan politicians stay on their home planet a remarkable amount, preferring to spend their free weekends introspectively meditating or skyfaring, rather than exploring other worlds. The meetings that she has to plan are routine; no off-world delegations are scheduled to arrive for several months; and the Mothers seem more than happy to let Tai-Lin Garr be the face of Gatalenta abroad.

Amilyn is nearly bored to tears until, three months into the job, the Senator unexpectedly returns home.

Amilyn nearly runs straight into him as she turns a corner into one of the outer courtyards in the Council's complex. Tai-Lin Garr is standing contemplatively at the start of a multicursal labyrinth that is embedded into the floor of the courtyard in pale gray stone. He turns as her steps stutter to a halt.

"Senator Garr," she mutters with a bow that barely meets the required protocol. "This is unexpected."

"Forgive the intrusion," he replies in his captivating voice, bending effortlessly into a flawless bow, in return. "I was hoping to speak with the Council before the upcoming vote for Chancellor, but my messages were not answered, and I haven't been able to find anyone."

"They're all across the planet, at a retreat," Amilyn explains stiltedly. "Unfortunately, there's a strict no-technology rule in the caves in which they are meditating, so the only way to contact them is to go retrieve them physically, which will take about a day. Do you need accommodations, until then?"

"No, thank you," the Senator says with another small bow to emphasize his gratitude.

For a moment, the two stare at each other, she with polite defiance, he with gentle curiosity.

"I'll go ready a crew to fetch the Council, then," Amilyn says finally.

"You're Amilyn Holdo, correct?" he asks before she can leave. "I've heard so much about you."

"Is that so?" she retorts, with a touch more aggression than she had intended.

"Yes," he says, his eyes sparkling. "According to Leia Organa, she would be dead many times over, if not for you."

Something within Amilyn snags, and it's all she can do to keep from bursting into tears. She's grateful, of course, that Leia speaks well of her to the Senator; but it should be _her_ sitting in the Senate, seconding Leia's votes; it should be _her_ swapping old war stories with Leia over dinner or a drink, after grueling sessions of debate.

"That's very kind of her," she replies woodenly.

"She also told me that you're one of the most steadfast, loyal, and courageous friends she has in the galaxy."

Amilyn raises an eyebrow, unsure of what this all means. Tai-Lin Garr is clearly trying to sound her out, but she doesn't know for what purpose.

"As I said, we should be back in about a day," she says instead, excusing herself with a bow. "Please make yourself comfortable until then, Senator."

Tai-Lin Garr sighs softly.

"Thank you," he says, bowing in return.

Amilyn begins to walk away, but she cannot help herself, and at the last minute, she turns on her heel to face Tai-Lin Garr again. He is facing the entrance to the labyrinth once more, his back towards her.

"Although you _really_ shouldn't need to consult the Mothers about the vote for Chancellor," she adds, just a touch acerbically. "There isn't anyone besides Mon Mothma who will be able to command automatic respect across the entire galaxy, and if the Council doesn't recognize that, then there isn't much reason to seek their advice on the vote, in the first place."

Tai-Lin Garr glances over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth curled upwards into a catlike smile.

"My duty to Gatalenta demands that I consult the Council before a vote as consequential as this," he tells Amilyn. "But you're right, of course, and I thank you for being willing to speak your mind."

Amilyn bows quickly, kicking herself for this small breach of protocol, even if the Senator has already forgiven it.

"Leia has rather forcefully made the same assertion to virtually everyone in the Senate, for what it's worth," Tai-Lin Garr adds with the tiniest of winks. "Which I doubt will surprise you to hear."

Amilyn is surprised to feel her own mouth curve into a genuine smile. Apparently, in spite of the indirect manner in which Gatalenta has trained her to communicate, she hasn't lost her ability to be straightforward and brash, if the occasion requires, and sometimes even get away with it. She nods, and turns away to ready her ship as the Senator focuses once again on the labyrinth before him, exhales slowly, and steps in.

* * *

At first, Amilyn is confused as to why Tai-Lin Garr is so friendly towards her, whenever they interact. For a long time, she assumes that Leia put him up to it. But then Leia announces that she will be passing through Gatalenta, en route from New Alderaan back to Chandrila, and Amilyn — who by now has been elevated from organizing meditation retreats to low-level work on actual policy pertaining to tea cultivation — is able to gather some answers for herself, about a plethora of matters.

"Look at you!" she exclaims in delighted surprise as Leia steps off the ramp of her ship, seizing Amilyn's hand for balance. The princess is noticeably pregnant, something that she has neglected to mention or show in any of her recent communications with Amilyn.

"It's not that I didn't _want_ to tell you," Leia explains that night. They have retreated to Amilyn's modest residence for dessert after Leia's formal welcoming banquet, because the Mothers prefer a calming cup of tea over anything sweet after dinner, and both Leia and Amilyn find this to be a silly convention. "Just that I've been keeping it under the radar as much as possible. I'm still relatively new to the Senate, and I really would prefer that the media focus its attention on the bills that I'm trying to push through committee, rather than on my pending maternity leave."

"Leia," snorts Amilyn, tossing her another cream-covered muffin that the Alderaanian Senator catches deftly with one hand, "of all of the Senators in the entire galaxy, you are the very _last_ who needs to worry about being taken less than seriously as a politician because of her personal life."

"Except for Chancellor Mothma," Leia corrects her, licking some cream off of her finger. "Hopefully."

"Except for Chancellor Mothma, hopefully," Amilyn agrees. "Well, I'm thrilled for you, at any rate. When do I get to meet this dashing rogue of an ex-smuggler that you married? I've only ever seen him at a distance."

"Really?" Leia laughs. "Well, you'll just have to come by Hanna City sometime when he's around. Han gets miserable when he has to stay on one planet for too long, so plenty of the other Senators have yet to meet him, as well. I think our arrangement confuses most of them, but it works well enough for us."

Amilyn simply smiles and takes another bite of her own cream-covered muffin. Leia studies her friend for a long moment.

"You've changed," she says quietly.

Amilyn raises her eyebrows.

"Not in a bad way," Leia clarifies. "We've all changed. Just... the war has altered you differently from how it's altered me."

Amilyn knows what Leia means. The Rebellion brought into clearer focus who Leia Organa already was, sharpened her convictions and honed her skills. The Leia that everyone had known as a justice-seeking teenager emerged from the war's aftermath as a more-refined iteration of the fearless leader that they had all presumed she would be, even if the war had never come to pass.

On the other hand, the conflict has not so much refined Amilyn Holdo as reshaped her — chipped away at the smooth whimsy of her personality to expose a rougher, flintier surface. Amilyn isn't surprised that Leia is still unfamiliar with this new, war-hewn version of her friend.

"The only way to keep myself safe throughout the course of the war was to amplify who I was, unrelentingly," she tells Leia. "Acting and dressing so outrageously was the only thing that kept me above the suspicion of the Imperial officers who passed through our teahouse, because they assumed that I was all nonsense and no substance. Even my own parents didn't suspect that I was passing information to the Rebellion; they thought that a rebel informant would have to have more sense than to draw that much attention to herself."

"And all the while, you were hiding in plain sight," smiles Leia.

"Yes," Amilyn nods. "But when being yourself becomes a rather exhausting performance, maybe it's inevitable to want to become someone else."

Leia looks at Amilyn's bright blue hair, at her flowing mauve dress, at the muffin that she's holding delicately between two fingers. Perhaps the Amilyn Holdo of today would simply _tell_ Leia outright that Winmey Lenz was trying to curry favor with both the Rebellion and the Empire, rather than embed that message in an opaque analogy involving dropping pastries on the floor. But that doesn't make her any less herself.

"Not someone else," Leia says gently. "Just a new version of who you've always been. A caterpillar doesn't cease to be the same creature, just because it metamorphosizes into a butterfly. And I think you make a spectacular butterfly, for what it's worth."

For whatever reason, this analogy makes Amilyn's eyes fill with tears.

"You've always been so kind to me, Leia," she sighs. "Perhaps too kind."

"No," smiles Leia. "Ever since a friend of mine told me that she honored honesty as highly as kindness and courtesy, I've tried to lean towards the former."

"And what about Senator Garr?" Amilyn quirks her head quizzically to one side. "You're not going to protest that you have nothing to do with how nice he always is to me?"

"Is he?" Leia's eyes light up. "Oh, good, I was hoping you'd become friends. But no, other than tell him what a wonderful friend you are, I've never put him up to anything."

"You mean, he doesn't know who I was?"

"Mmm," replies Leia around a mouthful of cream and muffin. "I don't spill my friends' secrets. That's for you to tell him, if you want."

Amilyn sits back against her couch, cradling between her hands a cup of tea brewed from the freshest leaves that her parents have in stock. One of these days, she knows, she'll have to shelve her pride properly and really try to accept Tai-Lin Garr as a friend, rather than as an awkward ally. But for now, she wants nothing more than to leave the matter unresolved, the way she occasionally takes years to finish novels whose endings she can't bear to reach.

"Come to think of it," says Leia, taking an efficient sip of her own tea, "why don't you come to Chandrila for a weekend sometime? It sounds like you could use a vacation, and you can come see all of the fun you're not missing, up close. Plus, it would give you a chance to get to know Tai-Lin, since I assume that the few times he's been back on Gatalenta, things have been all business." Leia's eyes are sparkling with anticipation. "I'm really very curious to hear what you think of the New Republic Senate, as compared to the Imperial Senate. Not that I would ever go back to that time, but I'm often under the impression that in the current Senate, what we lack in malice, we compensate for in incompetence. You'll have to come judge for yourself."

Amilyn laughs and tosses the last of the muffins in Leia's direction. Leia reaches out a hand to catch it; and perhaps it's just a function of being relaxed and drowsy, and as giddy to be back with Leia as if they'd consumed a bottle of Glowwine between them; but Amilyn swears that, as the muffin swoops upwards to its apogee, it shudders and, for a split second, hovers in midair, before gliding on its expected arc into the Senator's open palm.

* * *

The leaves on the lace maple trees in the inner courtyards of the Council's complex have deepened from a bright green to a blood red, then shriveled into tightly clasped, brittle gray fists, by the time Amilyn finally strides onto a borrowed ship chartered for Chandrila. She had hoped to visit the heart of the New Republic sooner, but the recent attacks on Hanna City led to temporary travel restrictions that she thought reasonable enough not to challenge. As a result of the delay, Amilyn's brain feels as if it has been whirring nonstop for longer than it can possibly manage, and even as she boards, she is still mentally checking items off of a list to ascertain that she hasn't forgotten anything: the meetings with the agricultural union have been moved, the memos were handed off to the communications staff to proofread, the water rights protestors are being diplomatically handled by someone else (hopefully). But not until her ship breaks the atmosphere of Gatalenta does Amilyn feel truly free of her responsibilities to her home planet, which appears misty and blue and utterly lovely from her vantage point. She wishes it well, closes her eyes in a moment of genuine meditation, and flies off to Chandrila with her mind clearer than it has felt in months.

Amilyn arrives at Hanna City in the planet's mid-afternoon, and after asking directions of several passing staffers and droids, finds her way from the hangar to the suite of Alderaanian offices. The Senator is in the middle of a tedious-sounding holoconference in her office, so when Amilyn appears in the doorway and waves, all that Leia can do is smile in greeting and subtly gesture for Amilyn to help herself to any of the water and fruit on the table behind her. Amilyn retreats backwards a few steps into the entrance room, drops her bags next to the couch, helps herself to a glass of water, and has just set her glass down on the table when she hears the sound of quiet burbling and follows it into the adjacent room.

Leia's little son is sitting on a soft, starry blanket in the middle of the floor, staring up at her with enormous dark eyes as he sucks on one arm of the Wookiee doll that he clutches under one arm. A harried-looking staffer is lounging on a chair in one corner of the room, frowning as he scrolls through some data on a pad.

"Hello there!" Amilyn cooes at the baby, dropping down to her knees. "You must be the famous Mr. Ben!"

"Uh, ma'am?" says the staffer, nearly dropping his datapad as he scrambles to his feet.

"He's so alert!" Amilyn says happily to the staffer as she scoots forward so that she's seated directly in front of little Ben Solo, who is still staring at her with a mixture of shyness and fascination. "I mean, that's not _too_ surprising, I suppose, given that he's how many months old now...?"

She suddenly realizes that the poor staffer has no idea who she is, and moreover is probably petrified that she's about to do something to harm his boss's child.

"Hi, I'm Amilyn," she says by way of belated introduction, grinning and reaching a hand upwards from her seated position for the staffer to take. "I'm a friend of Leia's. Is it OK for me to be in here?"

The staffer looks at her helplessly, then takes a few cautious steps into the entrance room without taking his eyes off of Amilyn and Ben. He apparently gets some signal of approval from Leia through her office doorway, for he visibly relaxes.

"Yeah, you're fine," he tells Amilyn, who by this point is moving the arms of Ben's doll about and making the best Wookiee noises she can, so that the little boy grins toothlessly at her and waves his free arm in approval. Then, suddenly, he reaches out and grabs a fistful of her purple hair in his hand.

"Augh, he's got me!" Amilyn announces melodramatically, sliding to the floor. As she begins to pry Ben's fingers off of the strand of hair that he's holding captive, she glances sideways up at the staffer. "Am I too distracting? I can go somewhere else, if you want..."

"Actually, _I_ can go somewhere else, if _you_ want," sighs the staffer. "This whole babysitting thing is killing my nerves; if you can keep an eye on him, maybe I can actually read and summarize this report by close of business today."

"Sounds good!" agrees Amilyn, gently wresting her hair free of Ben's grasp and sitting back up. The staffer rolls his eyes just a bit as he exits.

Leia heads immediately to her son's makeshift nursery when her call is over. She stands in the doorway for a long moment, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and a smile on her lips. Amilyn is seated cross-legged on the floor with Ben placed in her lap, and she's pretending that she's the seat in the cockpit of a starfighter that Ben is piloting, her arms held out like she's holding an imaginary steering wheel in front of both of them.

"Oh no, Ben, it looks like there are some TIEs coming in behind us on our right! We'd better bank left before they can set us in their sights!" With the appropriate whooshing sound effects, Amilyn leans slowly to her left and then slowly levels out to center, so that Ben gurgles happily, his Wookiee doll still clutched in his arms. He spots Leia before Amilyn does, and when the Gatalentan follows her temporary charge's gaze, she winks at Leia.

"I see you two have become fast friends already," Leia grins, holding her arms out as Amilyn lifts Ben off her lap and hands him over to his mother. "Oh, careful...!"

"Don't worry, it's non-toxic," Amilyn reassures Leia as she once again pries Ben's fingers off of a strand of her hair that he's trying to put in his mouth. "All-natural, Gatalentan-formulated hair dye. Costs a fortune, but at least I feel like I can believe them when they say it's all-natural, given our internal controls and... well, you're familiar by now with the toxicity regulations on our imports, I'm sure, so imagine that times ten."

Leia nods, still smiling as her friend rises to her feet and smooths imaginary wrinkles out of her dress. Ben makes a distressed squalling noise, his face tightening and going red.

"I'm sorry, Ben-Ben!" Amilyn croons sympathetically. "I'm sorry I made your ship disappear, but your mommy and I have to go work on fixing the galaxy now."

"I think he's just tired," Leia laughs. She bounces baby Ben on her hip all the way across the room, plants a kiss on his nose, and lays him down in his crib. When he finally stops fussing and begins to drift off to sleep, Leia gestures Amilyn quietly out into the entrance room.

"Well!" Amilyn exclaims, clasping her hands. "I'm here! Finally! And I'm standing in the middle of your Senatorial office, and you have the galaxy's most charming baby, and I honestly can't believe this is really happening."

"It's so good to see you," says Leia, taking Amilyn's hands in her own. "And thank you for waiting for me to finish up that meeting."

"Of course," Amilyn smiles. "The last thing I want to do is to distract you from what you need to be doing. Especially since I'm here to learn all about the current state of galactic politics, after all!"

"And here I thought you'd actually missed me," grins Leia.

Amilyn _has_ missed Leia, desperately, and she's so grateful for the opportunity to catch up with Leia after she is done with her work each day. The pair spend hours every evening of Amilyn's visit lounging on the small balcony of Leia's apartment, checking their laughter every so often so that they don't wake up Ben. But Amilyn is equally fascinated by the numerous meetings and sessions that she attends with Leia, observing quietly from the sidelines as her friend negotiates and placates and mediates and argues and orates. The galactic budget, criminal sentencing, mining safety regulations, educational funding, an array of policy priorities far beyond the sliver of rigged issues that the Apprentice Legislature had been permitted to touch — Amilyn watches in admiration as Leia confers with her staff on each, then presents her position politely but firmly to her fellow Senators. Leia is not a physically imposing person, but her poise and confidence leave her listeners with the impression that she is much taller than she actually is, and while Amilyn does not agree uniformly with the Alderaanian's perspectives, she deeply appreciates the care that Leia takes to ensure that even her naysayers understand her position.

Amilyn sees Tai-Lin Garr at a few of these meetings. But the Alderaanians invariably seem to be seated far from the Gatalentans, and Leia consistently forgets to let Amilyn's own Senator know that she is visiting until it is too late, and they are charging down yet another hallway en route to another meeting. When Leia finally decides to just leave Tai-Lin a message, however, Amilyn stops her. She's enjoying herself too much to want to add the stress of that dynamic to this first trip to Chandrila, and Leia seems to intuit as much without Amilyn needing to explain. The message remains unwritten.

All too soon, Amilyn finds herself packing to return home the following morning.

"On the one hand, I'll get to catch up on all of the rest that I've lost from charging around the Senate after you," Amilyn reasons glumly, folding a floor-length dress into a surprisingly compact bundle. "On the other hand, I may well die of boredom within a month or so."

"That clearly just means that you need to come visit us again before then," Leia insists, bouncing slightly as Ben drifts off to sleep in her arms.

"If only." Amilyn sighs and shoves the last of her clothes into her bag. "But, you know what they say — one who eats nothing but sweets, soon forgets to savor the taste of sugar. I guess I'll just have to make this last evening count for all of the fun I'll be missing in the near future."

"Well," says Leia, "there's a welcome party tonight, being hosted by a new Senator from a planet that just joined the New Republic a few weeks ago. Apparently, it's going to be quite the big event; Lonerans have a reputation for pulling out all the stops for their parties. But I don't want to pressure you into going, if you'd rather spend a relaxed evening here."

"We should absolutely go!" replies Amilyn enthusiastically, because the odds of anything like this happening on Gatalenta anytime soon are next to none.

And so the two young women leave baby Ben sleeping in the care of a caretaker droid and make their way to the apartment of the new Senator from Lonera. The revelry is evident from a block away, given the elevated chatter and occasional raucous laughs drifting from the designated building. When the door opens for them, Amilyn gasps at the lavish interior of the enormous suite of rooms, whose walls are covered with exquisite abstract paintings in bright colors that glow in the light shimmering from the crystal-spangled fixtures.

"Hello!" exclaims the long-limbed, golden-haired being who has answered the door.

"Good evening," says Leia smoothly, holding out a hand and stepping past Amilyn, who is still busy gaping at the opulence before her. "Senator Leia Organa of Alderaan."

"Well, of _course_ you are!" laughs the golden-haired being, taking Leia's hand. "Wonderful to meet you in person, finally. I'm Varish Vicly."

"Oh!" Leia's smile broadens into a grin. "Welcome to Chandrila, Senator! We're all looking forward to working with you in the future. And thank you for hosting this get-together."

"My pleasure," replies Varish enthusiastically. She turns to Amilyn expectantly.

"Amilyn Holdo," says Amilyn, bowing instinctively. "I'm just visiting."

"Not _just_ visiting," Leia explains to Varish. "Amilyn's a dear friend, and she works for the government of her home planet."

"Which is?"

"Gatalenta," Amilyn responds.

Varish laughs.

"I should have guessed, from the bow," she says. "I just met your Senator, too. He's somewhere around here... well, you'll find him. But please, come in and make yourselves at home!"

Leia and Amilyn both thank Varish again as she pulls the door further open and gestures the pair inside.

Politicos of all species and ages and ranks are clustered throughout Varish's home, lounging on velvet-upholstered chairs, toasting each other with gleaming flutes of sparkling wine, plucking decadent-smelling hors d'oeuvres from trays circulating the rooms in the care of droids. Leia, predictably, seems to know everyone and engages in very brief conversation with at least six people as they make their way across the room, Amilyn choosing to quietly enjoy observing everything around her. As they emerge onto the long balcony that wraps its way around Varish's apartment, Amilyn is surprised to see Mon Mothma conclude a conversation with a Bothan Senator, then turn directly to Leia.

"Chancellor!" exclaims Leia, who by this point has had some of the sparkling wine and has loosened up visibly. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

"I thought it would only be polite to make an appearance and welcome our newest Senator," explains Mon Mothma. "Besides, this really is some party; I would have regretted missing it. Frankly, I'm glad to see _you_ here, since I thought that your caretaker droid had short-circuited?"

"It's fixed!" says Leia happily. "We thought we'd swing by for an hour or so while Ben's sleeping."

"So I take it he's doing well?" Mon Mothma asks. "I must say, I'm still shocked that your hair is as long as it is, Leia. The second my eldest was old enough to want to tug on mine, off it all went, and I haven't felt the need to let it grow back out since."

"Fortunately, a lifetime of sporting various Alderaanian updos has programmed me to pull my hair out of harm's way, in the first place," Leia remarks, slightly mischievously. "Oh! And, speaking of hair, this is my friend Amilyn Holdo," she adds, seizing Amilyn's hand and dragging her forward.

"It's an honor, Chancellor," says Amilyn, again instinctively dipping into a low bow.

"A Gatalentan, I presume?" Mon Mothma smiles at her. "Hmm, and why do you look so familiar? I feel like I remember your face, for some reason..."

Amilyn blushes.

"Well, I was in the Apprentice Legislature at the same time as Leia — Senator Organa, that is..."

"Ah, now I remember." Mon Mothma arches an eyebrow at Amilyn, but she's smiling. "Something about stowing away on a cargo vessel transporting quadanium to the Rebellion, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Your memory for faces is impressive even by a politician's standards, Chancellor," Amilyn mutters.

Mon Mothma laughs.

"Anyone who has been party to Leia's contributions to the Rebellion has my automatic forgiveness and my eternal gratitude," she reassures Amilyn.

"I should also mention that Amilyn is quite literally the only reason I was able to get a ship from Coruscant to the Paucris system in time to warn the Rebel fleet about the Empire's pending attack," Leia adds, making Amilyn flush even more in pleased embarrassment.

"And how well I remember that close call," sighs Mon Mothma. "Senator Garr!"

"Chancellor?" replies Tai-Lin Garr, turning towards Mon Mothma from whatever conversation he has just finished. Before he takes a few steps towards them, he automatically delivers a bow identical to the one that Amilyn made a few moments before.

"It seems we inadvertently are hosting something of a war hero from your planet," says Mon Mothma, gesturing to Amilyn. "Leia's just explained to me how we wouldn't be here this evening, were it not for this brave Gatalentan."

"Senator." Amilyn, who is tired of being so identifiably Gatalentan at this party, manages to resist the urge to bow, and instead discreetly nods.

"Amilyn Holdo!" Tai-Lin, caught by surprise, bows to her as well. "I had no idea you were here. And I'm sorry to have missed these explanations, since I've heard so many hints that never quite develop into a full story," he adds with a pointed glance in Leia's direction.

Leia, however, is still grinning at Amilyn with a glint of mischief in her eye.

"Can I tell her?" she pleads. "I know it's your secret, but..."

"If you must," sighs Amilyn, who is enjoying all of this praise more than she would like to admit to herself.

Leia turns conspiratorially to Mon Mothma, who has been watching this interaction with interested expectation.

"You're actually more familiar with Amilyn's war record than you realize, Chancellor," Leia confides. "May I also introduce to you my friend Snow Owl?"

Mon Mothma is a woman of impressive self-possession, but upon hearing this, she blinks hard and stares at Amilyn.

" _You_ are Snow Owl?" she repeats.

Amilyn responds with a sheepish smile, a small shrug, and a nod. To her astonishment, Mon Mothma lays her right hand over her own chest, bows her head, and curtseys low.

"Then I owe you more thanks than I can possibly express," she says, stepping forward and placing her hands on Amilyn's shoulders. "May the Force be with you."

With a final nod of acknowledgement, Mon Mothma smiles at Amilyn and takes her leave of the conversation.

Amilyn glances at Leia, who looks rather smug, and then at Tai-Lin Garr, who looks somewhat bewildered. He is clearly about to ask something, but at that exact moment, something begins beeping in the pocket of the loose robe that Leia is wearing, and she pulls out a comlink and sighs.

"And apparently Ben's woken up," she informs Amilyn. "I should get back, but you're welcome to stay."

"I might, for just a little longer, if that's all right with you."

"Of course." Leia smiles fondly at the Gatalentans. "Tai-Lin, sorry to be rushing off, but I'll see you soon. And Amilyn, just send a call up if you can't get in, for some reason."

The pair watch as Leia acknowledges at least five other people on her way to the door, a carefree bounce added to her characteristically intense gait. Amilyn exhales, and when she realizes that a coupe-laden astromech droid has patiently parked itself next to her, she seizes a glass of wine.

"You won't tell anyone back home, will you?" she asks Tai-Lin Garr, almost defensively.

Her Senator shoots her a smile that contains a hint of conspiracy before selecting a coupe himself.

"Only if you don't," he replies.

The two simultaneously raise their glasses to each other before drinking deeply.

"It's funny," says Amilyn as she lowers her coupe, "I always think of you as being the poster boy for Gatalenta. I never would have imagined that you would flaunt social conventions by doing things like drinking alcohol."

Tai-Lin laughs.

"Well, as they say, 'When on Chandrila...'" He shrugs. "It does make the dullest of mandatory social events less painful, if nothing else, although I would not call tonight dull by any stretch."

Amilyn smiles, leaning her elbows back against the balustrade of the balcony.

"Besides," Tai-Lin adds, "I never would have imagined that _you_ had done things that could have elicited such a strong reaction from the Chancellor."

" _That_ was a strong reaction?"

"Trust me, if you knew Mon Mothma, you'd be as stunned as I am."

"Well, I don't know Mon Mothma," grumbles Amilyn quietly under her breath, and she takes another generous sip of wine.

Tai-Lin watches her for a long moment, and then he turns and rests his forearms on the balustrade, his attention fleetingly focusing on some indistinct point out in the glittering urban night around them.

"It's not my business, of course, but why didn't you run for the Senate?" he asks in a quiet voice. "You have the credentials for it, certainly — Apprentice Legislature, secret wartime acts of heroism, the glowing endorsement of the most iconic young politician in the galaxy, and now the eternal gratitude of the most powerful. I'm more honored than I can express for the chance to be here, of course, but I look at you, and you seem like you would be a natural fit."

Amilyn could laugh at the irony of the situation. But it's this moment that makes her realize that she no longer resents Tai-Lin Garr like she used to. He's good at his job, and it sounds like he genuinely doesn't know that he was recruited to be the preferred candidate over her.

"Well, I think that ship has left orbit," she tells him diplomatically, turning and leaning her own forearms against the balustrade. "And I have no real desire to flaunt my war record publicly, given how many revenge-bent Empire-sympathizing factions are still out there, and given how horrified the most pacifistic elements of our populace would probably be. Besides, I enjoy my work for the Council. I've loved being here these past few days, getting to see what you all do on a daily basis, but it's very rewarding sitting in on meetings with Gatalentans back home, listening to their concerns and watching my superiors try to create solutions to their problems. Intraplanetary politics, as it turns out, can be just as fraught with melodrama and intrigue as galactic politics."

Perhaps it's the wine — the cultural prohibition on Gatalenta has significantly lowered Amilyn's alcohol tolerance — but as she makes her excuses to Tai-Lin, Amilyn finds herself almost believing them.

"I see." Tai-Lin nods slowly, his expression both impressed and pensive. "You're absolutely right, of course. I wish that I could spend more time on-planet, getting to meet people face-to-face. Holograms are convenient, but are no real substitute for being there in person. You know, I presume, that my staff take some meetings for me, but that the bulk of the information that I receive about domestic policy comes from the news?"

"Not from the Mothers?" Amilyn asks archly.

A somewhat rueful smirk flickers across Tai-Lin's face.

"If information truly is the currency of politics, then I'm sure you've noticed that the Council is a remarkably miserly body, with all due respect. I sometimes sense that they don't trust me to do what's best for Gatalenta — that they think that being all the way over here on Chandrila has made me forget who I am, and who I represent."

"Hm." Amilyn tosses back the last of her wine and places her empty coupe back on the tray held by the lingering astromech, which burbles happily and rolls away. "That sounds all too familiar. Let me know if you ever need me to remind them that you're looking out for our best interests, however far away you may be. Or if you ever need details on any particular constituency. I sit in on virtually all of the meetings, just in case anyone needs me to help with anything, so I'm pretty familiar with what everyone generally wants from the Council, by now."

She yawns broadly, suddenly exhausted by the pleasant buzz of the alcohol and what has been a rather busy vacation.

"Well! I should probably be getting back to Leia's. I'm clearly more worn-out than I'd thought. But I'm glad we've had this chance to talk."

"As am I." Tai-Lin pauses. "You'll be all right getting back to Leia's on your own?"

"Oh, stop," Amilyn scolds him with a laugh. "I may be something of a lightweight, but I'll be just fine."

"In that case, then, go safely, and I hope that we speak soon. You've given me much to think about." Tai-Lin bows formally to Amilyn, and then adds, "I'll be back on Gatalenta in about two months. I always make a point to walk the labyrinth at the Council House, the first evening I'm home. Perhaps I'll see you there?"

Amilyn blinks, realizing a second later than usual that this is actually an invitation, delivered with typical Gatalentan indirectness. She bows in return — slowly, so that her body doesn't make her regret all that sparkling wine.

"Very likely," she responds. "May the Force be with you, Senator Garr."

Amilyn makes it back to Leia's with no trouble, and manages to consume an adequate of water and ready herself for bed without waking either of her hosts. She mostly forgets about her conversation with Tai-Lin Garr in the chaos of leaving the next morning, and she spends the voyage home already missing the dizzying rush of being in the center of all of the political goings-on of Chandrila.

So Amilyn is doubly surprised when she arrives back on Gatalenta — peaceful, orderly, quiet Gatalenta, which is depressingly calm and yet somehow also oddly comforting — and is given a message by one of her colleagues almost the instant she steps back into her office.

"The Council apparently received a communication from Chandrila while you were still en route home," Nira explains as Amilyn works her way through her inbox, using every meditation technique she knows to keep from panicking at the alarming rates at which her messages have accumulated in her absence. "From Senator Garr. He apparently wanted to speak to them about you."

"Did he?" Amilyn scowls at her impossibly full inbox, only half-listening to what Nira is telling her. (But she does make a mental note to tell Leia if Tai-Lin Garr has been a rotten snitch and told the Mothers about Amilyn's alcohol consumption abroad.)

"Apparently, he requested a weekly briefing from you about the state of intraplanetary politics. Doesn't think that the Mothers were telling him enough, I'm guessing."

This does catch Amilyn's interest enough to force her to tear her attention away from her datapad.

"And what did they say?" she asks neutrally.

Nira grins.

"The old gods only know how he did it, but they said yes!"

"Kriff," comments Amilyn, because that _is_ an impressive feat. She'll have to observe Tai-Lin Garr more closely to note his exact methods of persuasion.

"Right? Hope you don't object too strongly, by the way, Amilyn. It seems like you're the only party to all of this who didn't really have a say in the matter."

"Oh, I'd say I did." Amilyn smiles. "And, far from objecting, I'm actually looking forward to it."

* * *

The Council of Mothers convenes in a ceremonial House within a wider complex of courtyards and fountains and reflecting pools, all constructed from the same cream-colored stone, dense and cool to the touch. The complex sprawls across the top of a headland whose rocky face, jutting boldly into the restless gray-blue of the ocean, is of the same stone as the buildings, so that it almost appears that the complex was carved organically from the bluff by the unsparing elements of the coastline. The back of the headland slopes gently down from the Council's lofty seat to the level of the beach below; the descent is covered in scrubby dune grasses, fragrant chaparral, and windswept conifers with gnarled trunks whose tufted branches fan out towards the waves like feathers. A set of rough-hewn steps also winds from one of the outer courtyards of the complex down the face of the cliff to the damp, foam-flecked sand beneath.

Amilyn spends much of her time in a state of intense weariness, but when she can convince herself to wake up early enough, she loves to greet the suns from the beach at the foot of the promontory on which the Council House sits. The courtyards in the complex are laid out so that each receives a different gradient of lighting throughout the day, and so that at least one courtyard is flooded with full sunlight from one sun or another at any moment in time. Most of the Council staff — and a good number of visitors, besides — take advantage of such convenience for their morning and midday meditations. But Amilyn is not most of the Council staff, and she enjoys the soft-hard grittiness of the wet sand between her toes and the tides lapping her ankles as she salutes the rising suns. When it is time to begin the day's work, she always attempts to walk all the way up the steps carved into the bluff as fast as she can, without stopping or stumbling.

Amilyn also seeks temporary refuge in the solitude at the base of the headland on particularly frustrating days. There is a convenient dip in the surface of the eggshell-white cliff at its base, too shallow to be considered a cave, but the perfect depth to provide relief from the direct glare of the sun. Sometimes, Amilyn sits in its indigo shadow, an incongruous splash of color against the blank expanse of the rocky wall, staring out at the waves rolling in from the steely sea, and willing herself towards an elusive patience. (It helps, once in a while.)

It is as she returns from one such excursion that Amilyn encounters Tai-Lin Garr again. The Gatalentan suns are leaning towards their reflections on the pelagic horizon, and a brisk breeze is billowing up the face of the bluff and into the darkening near-twilight air. Amilyn has just re-emerged at the top of the staircase, breathing heavily from the climb, when she spies Tai-Lin's distinctive silhouette against the wall of one of the courtyards, black against a backdrop of stone stained a rich marigold by the thickening light. She takes several deep breaths as she makes her way towards the entryway through which she can see the silhouette, and by the time she has stepped into the courtyard, her heart has thankfully stopped pounding quite so hard.

"Senator," she says, bowing to disguise any remaining gasp in her voice.

Tai-Lin greets her with a bow in return.

"Please, call me Tai-Lin," he tells her with a warm smile, stepping towards her. "It's good to see you in person."

The weekly briefings have fostered a collegiality between the two Gatalentans with a speed that startled Amilyn. Perhaps she should have expected Tai-Lin to be as humble as he has proven, but Amilyn was surprised at how willing he was to acknowledge how much he did not know. From the start of their first briefing, Tai-Lin made absolutely clear his gratitude for Amilyn's willingness to take time from her busy schedule to meet with him — something the Mothers rarely do — and ever since he has listened graciously to her explanations, only occasionally interrupting her to ask courteously for clarifications. Even when Tai-Lin challenges her interpretations of events, he does so in only the most deferential of manners, framing his dissent less as a confrontation than as a gentle request for Amilyn to set him straight with any additional facts at her disposal.

Amilyn's career to date has consisted primarily of listening: in her work for the Rebellion, in her observations of her superiors' meetings with constituents on behalf of the Council, even in taking orders and waiting tables at her parents' teahouse. Not since her stint in the Apprentice Legislature has Amilyn felt so certain of her right, and indeed of her _duty_ , to make her voice heard.

The suns continue their dance towards the ocean, the three stars seeming to weave in and out of each other's trajectories. Tai-Lin gestures to the labyrinth in the courtyard.

"Will you join me? Unless, of course, you prefer a seated meditation at sunset..."

Amilyn grins.

"I tend to fall asleep whenever I try seated meditation. My personal preference is for skyfaring."

"I should have guessed. Leia mentioned that you'd taught her, once upon a time."

"I did. I'm sure you know by now that she's the type of person who can't be completely at ease with herself unless she's actively _doing_ something."

"Indeed," Tai-Lin laughs. "Well, stationary meditation doesn't put me to sleep, but I, too, prefer some sort of movement. It feels more productive, which helps me focus."

Amilyn raises her eyebrow.

"You don't fall asleep... but you get bored?"

"I wouldn't _quite_ put it that way," replies Tai-Lin, wrapping himself a hint more in his typical dignity.

Amilyn merely shakes her head in response, her grin spreading even wider.

"Tai-Lin Garr, there's more to you than meets the eye." She strides to the center of the labyrinth and holds out her hands, palms up. "Ready?"

It's been a long time since Amilyn attempted any sort of synchronized meditation. The last time she can remember doing so was towards the end of a relationship that was hurtling sharply downhill due to Amilyn's espionage activities for the Rebellion, which made her too distracted and far too paranoid to maintain any semblance of interest in the poor other girl. So she is surprised that she still remembers all of the correct steps. Or perhaps Tai-Lin is simply too polite to correct any missteps on her part, which is an entirely plausible scenario. In any event, he walks to the center of the labyrinth and stands opposite her, placing the palms of his hands on hers, face-down. They both close their eyes and breathe deeply for a few moments, aware of the fading light, and the cries of sea birds over the gentle crashing of the waves, and the warmth of each other's touch. Then, in unspoken mutual agreement, they open their eyes and step slowly backwards to opposite ends of the labyrinth, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When they are both ready, they bow low to one another, breaking their visual connection. And then they step into their respective entrances to the labyrinth.

The point of a paired labyrinth meditation is to be acutely aware of how both parties are moving through space, so that each can adjust their pace to match the other's, and ensure that neither party reaches the center of the labyrinth too long before the other. This, according to the wisdom of generations of Gatalentans past, is supposed to foster greater attention to the other labyrinth-walker's needs, and create stronger harmony between the pair as a whole. Amilyn is pleasantly surprised to find that it is extremely easy to walk opposite Tai-Lin Garr; they happen to be about the same height, and she finds it remarkably easy to read when he might speed up or slow down. A labyrinth-walker is taught to look straight ahead, without intentionally catching the eye of their counterpart, but even without looking directly at him, Amilyn _feels_ where Tai-Lin is at all moments, and when they pass close enough to brush shoulders on their respective paths, she feels something like a thrum of energy reverberate between them, intangible but palpable nonetheless.

They meet at the center of the labyrinth in near-perfect synchronicity. Looking straight at her, but not meeting her eyes, Tai-Lin holds out his hands, palms-up, and Amilyn lays her hands palms-down on top of them. The two close their eyes, breathing deeply once more, and then sink down to their knees, folding their legs beneath them and letting their hands slide apart until only the tips of their fingers stil touch. Once again, the whole galaxy seems to condense down into the moment: the salty air, the faint bite of sage on the sea breeze, the waning caress of sunlight from the setting suns. The simple act of being in this place, at this time, and choosing to be there with another person.

Finally, when both sense that the moment is right, they break the contact between their fingers, their hands falling to their own knees. Amilyn opens her eyes and stares intently into Tai-Lin's; the left side of his face radiates the crepuscular glow, the right side of his face is cast into a purple shadow. After a moment, they both bow to each other, and then the ceremony is done and the spell is broken. As he sits back up, Tai-Lin smiles at her, and, gesturing with his head, swivels himself to his left to admire the sunset. Amilyn follows suite, turning to her right, and she gasps in wonder at the setting suns. At this precise moment in time, all three have aligned themselves so that it appears that Gatalenta only rotates around one star, blazing an undaunted orange in the fiery sky. Then, as the two watch, the single orb shudders and separates itself into three parts once more, which continue to weave their way across each other's paths as they descend into the depths of the darkening sea.

It isn't as if Amilyn has learned anything within the past minutes about Tai-Lin Garr that she hasn't already known. It isn't as if she has any new insights into his personality, or her own, or how they fit together within the complicated dynamics of Gatalentan politics. But the meditation has changed something, and she suspects that he feels it, too.

"I miss this," he says finally, his voice so quiet that she almost misses it under the distant rush of the waves. "It's good to be back." He turns slightly towards Amilyn, half-facing her, half-facing the sunset. "But, since I can't be here every evening, thank you for helping me admire the sunsets, while I'm away."

"It's my pleasure, Senator — Tai-Lin," Amilyn corrects herself. "If I'm completely honest, our weekly briefings have become the highlight of my work for the Council."

"I'm honored to hear it." Tai-Lin shoots her a somewhat apologetic glance. "I feel I should warn you in advance that your counsel may have led me to make a decision that our Alderaanian friends did not appreciate..."

"Yes, I suspected as much," Amilyn interrupts.

"Really?" Tai-Lin frowns. "But you didn't tell me during our briefing that if I voted against the provision of military-grade arms to the racketeering investigative force, it would make Leia quite so furious..."

"What I told you was what the Mothers believe, and what the general sentiment around Gatalenta has been," Amilyn cuts in again. "And the consensus across most of the planet, according to the polls, is that people are still dedicated enough to our societal values of pacifism that they would never support such legislation in its current form."

"I believe that that's true," Tai-Lin frowns, "but..."

"But you also believe that Leia is right. And she is. Without military-grade arms to combat the strength of criminals like the Hutts, any racketeering investigative force will have virtually no ability to confront the gangs that it investigates."

"Nor to defend itself, if discovered mid-investigation," Tai-Lin adds. "Why did you stay silent on all of these issues, when we discussed the bill?"

"It wasn't my place to opine on them," Amilyn shrugs.

"I value your opinion."

"Still. My role is to give you information, not to analyze what to do with it. You knew Leia's position going into our conversation; whether or not I agreed with her, my function was to provide you with the most prevalent Gatalentan perspective on the matter. Not to try to shape policy by influencing your vote — I'm too minor a player on this dejarik board for that, and frankly, I suspect that the Mothers would cancel our briefings, if they ever felt that I was trying to do such a thing."

Tai-Lin says nothing, only stares back out over the dark, rippled surface of the ocean, a furrow between his eyebrows.

"The bill passed, though, didn't it?" Amilyn prompts.

"By a landslide," answers Tai-Lin. "My vote didn't matter in practice, only in principle."

"Then all is well." Amilyn reaches over and briefly lays her hand on Tai-Lin's. "Just explain to Leia the internal Gatalentan politics of all of this. She'll understand. She may have had a particularly emotional reaction to a vote of this nature, given what happened to her husband during the war, but she's a savvy politician, and she can't blame you for simply representing the will of your planet in the Senate."

Tai-Lin nods slowly.

"I'm embarrassed to have to ask," he admits, "but what _did_ happen to Leia's husband during the war?"

"It's no reason to be embarrassed. I remember how little coverage Gatalenta's media networks gave to the war while it was occurring, and it's not an incident that Leia likes to remember, for a variety of reasons. To make a long story short, her husband was frozen in carbonite by Darth Vader and sold to a prominent crime lord until Leia and her brother were able to infiltrate his syndicate and rescue him. The full explanation is more complicated than that, of course," Amilyn adds, "but you get the picture. And this is one instance in which I wouldn't ask Leia to fill in any details that I may have intentionally omitted."

"I see." Tai-Lin exhales slowly. "Speaking of omitted details, may I ask...?"

He falters, and Amilyn patiently waits for him to find the right words.

"I don't want you to feel pressured in any way," he continues finally, "but if you feel comfortable doing so, would you tell me about what it means to have been 'Snow Owl'?"

Now it is Amilyn's turn to stare out towards the faded sunset.

"When I first became aware of Leia's involvement in the Rebellion — of the entire Organa family's involvement, I should say — I felt as if I had stumbled across the opportunity that I had spent my entire life hoping to find. After the Apprentice Legislature term finally ended and I came back home, I bought myself one of those flight simulators with the credits I'd saved from tips I'd gotten waiting tables at my parents' teahouse. My poor parents, thankfully, were used to my fascination with the wild and unruly by that point, so they chalked this up to yet another bizarre obsession and didn't think much of it. I spent hours and hours practicing flight maneuvers in virtual X-wings, perfecting my aim with a ship's blaster cannons, learning to dodge enemy fire and shoot back with deadly precision. And I was certain, _so certain_ , that when the opportunity came, I'd be able to join Leia in the Rebellion proper, as the best ace pilot in her entire fleet."

As the sunlight dims on the horizon, a pair of outdoor lamps flutter to life. Their warm, flickering glow casts long shadows from Tai-Lin and Amilyn across one half of the labyrinth, stretching out towards the dwindling sunlight.

"But then... well, you remember what happened when Alderaan was destroyed. The panic that spread across the entire galaxy. Gatalenta's strict declaration of neutrality, which, as you probably know, was supported by a whopping 85 percent of the population, who justifiably feared becoming the next planet to be wiped off the maps. I'd already seen a friend die at the hands of the Empire, but this type of destruction was so _different_ , so unimaginable in scope and horror. As much as I wanted to help the Rebellion, I was suddenly afraid, almost paralyzed by the fear. I didn't want to face banishment from Gatalenta, as I would have under the neutrality declaration, if I had left to join Leia. And, in a moment when so many lives had been extinguished all at once, I didn't even know if I wanted to be part of the killing anymore. The very notion of pulling the trigger on a blaster left me feeling sick."

A small, regretful smile flickers across Amilyn's face and quickly dies.

"So you stayed on Gatalenta?" Tai-Lin gently prompts.

"So I stayed on Gatalenta," Amilyn confirms. "I never became the ace pilot that I had been so sure I'd become. But I did help the Rebellion, in my own small way, and in a way whose causality didn't make me feel like anyone's death fell quite so squarely in my lap. I became Snow Owl. Or, I should say, Code Name Snow Owl. You see, it turns out that Imperial officers don't give you much of a second glance, if you're just some girl waiting tables at a fancy teahouse near the main landing and refueling port on a neutral planet. They'll notice you even less, if everything about you seems to lack any degree of subtlety, which is exactly the opposite of what you'd expect from a spy. You'd be amazed at some of the conversations that occur out in public between people who have become so high-and-mighty that they've forgotten that lesser beings still have ears."

"And you funneled information to the Rebellion?"

"Whatever I could: overheard descriptions of weapons schematics; discussions of troop movements; even just estimates of how far refueling Imperial officers were traveling, based on the length of their stays and the builds of their ships. If an officer ordered a shipment of tea to take onboard, I'd offer to load it onto the ship myself, just so I could get a glimpse of whatever was there to see in the hold, or even just in the hangar. One of my biggest lucky breaks was when I overheard two officers discussing the difficulties that would be posed by maneuvering AT-ATs across the terrain of an ice planet, without any internal elements malfunctioning from the cold. I managed to get the information to Echo Base, where Leia was able to use the advance knowledge of the Empire's materiel to help coordinate defensive attacks as Hoth was being evacuated. You've spotted a pattern by now, I assume?"

"What's that?"

"Even back then, my job was focused only on getting information to the Rebellion, not on telling them how to use it." Amilyn smiles grimly. "It's the only way I was able to maintain my sanity, really, knowing that I was providing useful intelligence, but not actually making any decisions about how many people would die of the result of it, if any."

This time, it is Tai-Lin who gently lays a hand on Amilyn's shoulder.

"You believe that what Leia did was right, though. You _know_ it to be right. A life taken in self-defense is not a murder, Amilyn. You cannot blame yourself for doing what you had to do."

"I know." Amilyn sighs a bit. "I don't, really. I like to believe that, if I ever were put into a combat position for a cause that I believed in, I now would have the resolve to do what had to be done, no matter how much it rubbed up against my strict pacifist upbringing. Leia once reframed the whole situation for me: she said that, instead of looking at the violence of each battle as a means of destroying our foes, I should look at it as a means of preserving our friends. Because it's true that the Empire would have murdered all of our friends without a second thought, and of course I knew it. Still, there's a reason I've never discussed my involvement with the Rebellion with my parents, or with anyone else on Gatalenta, really. I know they'd all forgive me, but it wouldn't be easy for them."

The last of the light has finally disappeared from the sky, leaving the velvety-black depths above studded with brilliantly bright stars.

"Well," says Tai-Lin at long last, "I'm grateful that you've told me, and I promise that I won't tell another soul without your permission."

"I know," replies Amilyn simply. "It's surprisingly easy for me to trust you, Tai-Lin, because I think we're more alike than I'd realized until this evening. We're both skyfarers through spaces that many people on this planet couldn't even begin to imagine, let alone navigate. I lived on the periphery of the war for years, and now you live in its aftermath. Most Gatalentans just wouldn't understand what that means. But you do."

* * *

Amilyn does not so much feel the years pass as watch them. Time glides and leaps and spins in the tranquil chaos that is the Gatalentan Council of Mothers; the days feel simultaneously too long to be possible, and too short to accommodate all of the work that must be done. Amilyn quickly gives up on using her own perceptions of the passing hours as a reliable metric.

Instead, Amilyn notes that it's been three years since the end of the war by the fact that Ben Solo is running. Once Leia stops grumbling about Gatalenta's vote on the racketeering investigative force, she finally makes plans to come visit Gatalenta on a quick weekend vacation. The two friends sit in Amilyn's favorite dip in the cliff wall below the Council House, catching up on each other's news, while Ben races across the sand on chubby legs.

"But how can he be a real toddler already?" Amilyn asks Leia in disbelief that evening, after Amilyn has read Ben to sleep from a book of Gatalentan fairytales.

Leia shrugs.

"Time passes," she replies simply.

* * *

 _The Galactic Senate begins discussing opening more trade channels between planets by decreasing tariffs on imports. The Mothers are dead-set against this idea, given the blow that cheaper imported brands could deal to local consumption of Gatalentan tea. The Gatalentan tea farmers, unsurprisingly, are equally opposed._

 _Tai-Lin asks Amilyn for her advice during one of their weekly briefings. Although she dutifully expresses the unanimous opinion of the Council, Tai-Lin nods and then asks Amilyn what she thinks personally. He has noted that drinking Gatalentan tea is a sign of stature throughout most of the rest of the galaxy, and that markets on poorer planets seeking to offer their citizens commodities that imply wealth would likely see increases in Gatalentan tea consumption, if import tariffs were dropped and the tea suddenly became far more affordable. Amilyn agrees, and adds that most Gatalentans are so concerned about their overall wellness that she suspects that many would continue to buy Gatalentan-produced tea even if cheaper options flooded the market, simply because most off-world tea would not pass the stringent organic growing standards adopted by all Gatalentan farmers and regulated by the Council._

 _"I think we have a compelling argument," Tai-Lin tells her. "Will you present it to the Council?"_

 _Amilyn declines, because she still is more or less a nobody in the eyes of the Mothers. Tai-Lin finally agrees to present their case in her stead, but is careful to thank Amilyn for her insights, at the start of his argument. By the end, the Mothers are reluctantly convinced, and they give their Senator their approval for a yes vote back on Chandrila. They also summon Amilyn the next week and offer her a promotion, although the offer is wrapped in an almost imperceptible hint of warning that she should remember who pays her salary._

* * *

Amilyn is excellent at willfully neglecting to read between the lines, and she accepts the promotion without any signs of withholding information from Tai-Lin. Her stature is only enforced by the fact that Tai-Lin frequently orients people of importance in her direction, whenever he feels that they would be better-suited to speaking to a representative of the Gatalentan government than to the planet's Senator. Over the course of several more years, she is promoted again, and then again. Eventually, she realizes that she occupies a position second only to the Mothers themselves, as a sort of overall coordinator for the Council.

"So, you're essentially like a chief of staff for the entire body?" Leia clarifies at some point as they talk via holo.

"If the function of a chief of staff is to juggle everything at once, and to make sure everyone else in the office knows exactly (and only) what they need to know at any given moment in time to get things done, then yes," replies Amilyn wearily. (Management has its obvious rewards, but it is also unspeakably exhausting.)

Leia throws back her head and laughs.

"You're clearly learning why power is a double-edged sword," she tells Amilyn. "On the one hand, it's glamorous and interesting and a sight more impactful than the roles beneath. But, on the other hand, it does mean being constantly exhausted and mildly frazzled and always worried about all of the people relying on you. Which makes it a bit like parenting, to be completely honest," Leia adds to herself.

"Does it ever get easier?" Amilyn yawns.

"Not really," admits Leia, "but you learn how to manage it all better and better, the longer you live with that sort of responsibility. In any event, congratulations on making yourself officially indispensable to the governance of your planet."

* * *

 _The trademark legislation maneuver is Amilyn's idea. After Tai-Lin explains to her the problems being caused by charlatans charging thousands of credits to teach workshops of what they claim to be "genuine Gatalentan meditation techniques," she suggests that he introduce a bill in the Senate to trademark the most common forms of Gatalentan meditation practice, and to impose fines on anyone across the galaxy who is caught charging money for any such seminar without being certified as an instructor by a board of experts._

 _Tai-Lin thinks that this is a brilliant plan. The Council of Mothers does not._

 _"You are suggesting that we cheapen our rich heritage by commercializing our culture into something narrowly defined and reductive and marketable?"_

 _"That's not it at all," Amilyn argues back. (Being indispensable, she now is unafraid to argue her positions for herself.) "It's a measure to prevent frauds from cheating the gullible out of their money. Real instructors of Gatalentan meditation wouldn't need to charge a credit for their knowledge, if they didn't want to do so."_

 _The Mothers remain unconvinced. Who would organize any such board of experts to certify instructors? How would it be funded? They dismiss Amilyn from the discussion with a resolute "no," and she immediately retreats to the archives._

 _When she next speaks with Tai-Lin, Amilyn explains that there is a vestigial popular referendum statute that would allow a certification board for meditation instructors to be established, if enough support can be won among common Gatalentans. Tai-Lin immediately agrees to campaign for the issue as politely as possible, if Amilyn is willing to do the more difficult work of organizing the logistics of a popular referendum for the next election. Somehow, Tai-Lin is able to popularize the idea of such a certification board through a series of thoughtful and well-reasoned mentions scattered throughout a year's worth of interviews. Meditation instructors across Gatalenta_ — _most of whom have never before in their lives been political_ — _quickly adopt Tai-Lin's rhetoric._

 _The referendum passes. Amilyn meets with groups of meditation instructors across the planet and takes their recommendations for candidates for the certification board. She passes those recommendations on to Tai-Lin, who appoints the board and sets them to work, then immediately introduces his trademark bill, which the rest of the Senate finds entirely uncontroversial and quickly adopts._

 _Everyone is pleased, except the Mothers._

 _Amilyn could point out that this cost the Council nothing; the meditation instructors appointed to the certification board were so enthused by the idea that they agreed to accept the positions as volunteers, without demanding pay for their work. She could note that the vast majority of Gatalentans agree with Tai-Lin's campaign logic that a certification board would, in fact, help to_ preserve _Gatalentan culture, by guarding against the misrepresentation and appropriation of the planet's most cherished traditions. She could even assert that, as a citizen of the planet, she had every right to collect signatures to have a popular referendum added to the election ballot, which she did only after checking every possible regulation to ensure that it would not pose an ethical conflict to her duties to the Council._

 _Instead, she dyes her hair a particularly vivid shade of teal and continues to smile her way through discussions with her superiors, head held defiantly high._

* * *

The years fly by. Amilyn savors political victories and swallows political losses; vacations offplanet less and less as her responsibilities stack up; falls in and out of love; helps her parents sell their teahouse and purchase a lovely home on the other side of the planet for their well-deserved retirement. She learns that Tai-Lin was right about information truly being the currency of politics. She also learns that knowing when to withhold information is just as valuable a tactical weapon.

Very little is constant in the world of politics. Coalitions in the Galactic Senate form and shift and fragment with no more permanence than footprints in the sand on the beach below the Council House. Legislation is passed, then repealed or reworked or forgotten without having been put into practice. But, through it all, Amilyn holds fast to two constants in her always-tilting world, to the two ever-fixed marks by which she can reliably orient herself. She and Leia and Tai-Lin may not always align on matters of policy, but Amilyn places a deep and unshakeable trust in both of her friends. Her visits with Leia are increasingly few and far between, but theirs is a friendship that requires little tending to remain as vibrant as ever. And Tai-Lin remains the bright spot in Amilyn's political life on Gatalenta.

"In all honesty, I often feel like I'm standing on the brink of a precipice," Amilyn explains to him one evening.

The two friends have spent the past few hours perusing art galleries, searching for the perfect painting for Tai-Lin to give to Leia for her birthday; they ultimately decided on a canvas in dramatic swaths of varying reds that immediately reminded them both of the fiery Alderaanian. The Senator from Gatalenta, ever thoughtful, has also discreetly brought Amilyn a bottle of wine, for which she is immensely grateful (it has been a trying week). But Tai-Lin characteristically insisted that, before uncorking the wine, they go walk the labyrinth in the Council complex, as has become their tradition whenever he arrives back on-planet.

Tai-Lin frowns up at the sky. Having completed their meditation and watched the suns set, he and Amilyn are lying in the center of the labyrinth with their arms propped under their heads, stargazing.

"How so, a precipice?"

"I don't know. It's... it's like I've always been carefully walking a perilous line, when it comes to the Council. I know that they value my work, but I also know that they resent my willingness to push limits. Working with you on initiatives that they don't appreciate, for example. Even just dressing the way that I do. I feel like they're waiting for me to take one false step, so that they'll have an excuse to get rid of me."

Tai-Lin is silent for a long moment.

"You don't really mean that."

"I probably don't. Possibly. I don't know." Amilyn takes a moment to collect her thoughts. "Let me put it this way: I don't think that the Mothers actively want me to fail, but I don't think that they particularly want to see my brand succeed." She smiles regretfully. "You know, when I first started out in politics, I used to think that I wanted to be elected to the Council, just to prove that it's possible to gain that sort of recognition and respect without having to conform to the conventions of a typical Gatalentan."

"Hmm."

Amilyn turns her head towards Tai-Lin.

"It's not an insult," she clarifies.

"I wasn't feeling insulted," he replies. "I was just considering the irony. You consider me to be a 'typical' Gatalentan, and by some standards, I probably am. But when anyone in the Senate mentions Gatalenta to me, I don't immediately envision tranquil people in muted clothes and scarlet cloaks. I don't see the tea farms or the beaches or the meditation retreats. I'm embarrassed to say that my first association is not even my own family. And maybe it's just because you're my most constant and reliable connection to day-to-day life on the planet, but the fact remains that when I hear the name 'Gatalenta,' you are always the first thought that comes to mind."

The stars blur in Amilyn's vision as her eyes fill with unexpected tears. She can no longer see which planets are aligning in which houses to signal her fortune or disgrace, but somehow, she doesn't particularly care. _Everything is written in the_ _stars_ , she had once told Leia —but why should she try to divine the future through the centuries-old light of distant suns, when there is nowhere she would rather be than here with Tai-Lin Garr, in this moment and place? Amilyn has spent so much of her professional life longing for the past or dreaming of the future that she has forgotten how fulfilling it can be to center herself in the present, to simply _be_. She closes her eyes to the stars and lets herself be overwhelmed with gratitude, for all that life has given her, but especially for friendships that are so deep and true and accommodating that she need do no more than simply exist as she is, and that in itself is enough.

* * *

In the end, Amilyn does not stumble off the edge of her metaphorical precipice — she leaps.

Leia, of course, is not to blame, although she will later confess to feeling some responsibility for what happened. But Amilyn will remind her that when they spoke just prior to Amilyn's fall, Leia herself was careful to deflect Amilyn away from anything to do with policy.

"You seem anxious," Amilyn tells her, crossing her arms in concern as she stares at Leia's holographic form.

"Oh, don't mind me," Leia sighs. "I'm still just not used to coming back to an empty apartment. Plus, I worry more than I should. Luke rarely lets Ben call home. Says he's trying to teach his students the virtues of detachment. Hypocrite," she adds fondly, although Amilyn still senses an undercurrent of genuine annoyance.

"Well, at least you said that Han will be home soon."

"Yes, thankfully. And, knowing Han, that should keep me perhaps more distracted than I should be."

Amilyn reads the daily brawls of political life in every line of the scowl that tightens Leia's face. And she thinks that she knows exactly what is weighing so heavily on Leia's mind.

"If you want me to talk to Tai-Lin..."

"I've talked to Tai-Lin plenty," Leia says, waving a hand dismissively. "It would be much easier having him on my side for this one, given the fact that there are two or three Senators who almost certainly won't vote in support unless he does. But convincing him is my job, not yours. It's my bill, after all. And it's his right to vote against it. From what he's said, it sounds like the requirement would be anathema to most Gatalentans. I can't fault him for listening to his constituents, even if he's wrong."

"I just hate seeing you so agitated," frets Amilyn, clasping her hands.

"And I appreciate that, but this bill is really the least of my problems right now, strange to say." Leia's shoulders slump slightly. "I know you can keep a secret, Amilyn. Can I unburden myself of one?"

"Of course. Anything."

"It's Mon Mothma. Something's wrong with her, and I'm not sure what. We were discussing something on the way back from a session, and just outside her office suite, she stopped and suddenly crumpled to the floor, without any sort of warning. Thankfully, her staff were all just inside and rushed out immediately when I shouted for them. But when she came to, she was so disoriented for a moment. She looked at me, and then she called me by my — by the name of a Senator with whom she served during the Clone Wars, before she finally recognized me."

Leia's voice falters. Amilyn knows that Mon Mothma has been Leia's political mentor for well over two decades, dating back to their time in the Apprentice Legislature. But she senses that the former Chancellor, who was a close friend of Bail and Breha Organa, has become something of a surrogate parent to Leia over the years. Amilyn can't imagine how frightening it must be for Leia to anticipate the pain of losing Mon Mothma too, after everything that she has already suffered.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Amilyn lies to Leia, as confidently as possible. "Senator Mothma is a warrior, in every sense of the term."

"I hope you're right," Leia replies grimly. "If anything were to happen to her, it wouldn't be just a personal tragedy. The partisan divide here on Hosnian Prime is indescribable. Barely anything gets done, the gridlock has gotten so bad. And respect for Mon Mothma is just about the only thing keeping the Populists and the Centrists from tearing at each other's throats. Without her presence in the Senate, everything could collapse into chaos."

Leia's words stay with Amilyn throughout the following days, as she goes about her duties. But her mind remains occupied primarily by the legislation that Leia is trying to push through the Senate. If passed, the bill would require each planet to contribute a uniform percentage of its gross world product to the New Galactic military — no more, and no less. It's a hard sell on numerous fronts; less-affluent planets are affronted by the prospect of putting a set amount of their scant resources towards defense; more-affluent planets call instead for a fixed amount of funding from each planet, rather than a percentage that will fall more heavily on the resources of the wealthier planets. A few planets, such as Arkanis and Kuat, bristle at the notion of their military funding being capped.

But Gatalenta would naturally be the most difficult planet on which to gain popular approval for the bill, because of the planet's strong pacifistic values.

Amilyn has watched Leia make her case over and over on the informational channels. She has heard her friend point out that there are still threats in the galaxy that will require a firm commitment from each planet to the defense of the republic, and that this bill is one means of ensuring that each planet has a real stake in the military. What Amilyn reads between the lines of Leia's speeches is that the New Republic military is currently being funded almost exclusively by wealthy Centrist planets, which naturally take an interest in a strong, centralized defense force; and that, if the Populist worlds want to maintain any actual say whatsoever in the military's doings, they are going to need to invest credits or weapons or personnel that will make their participation indispensable to the military's future success. It's the only way to keep a project that is ostensibly galaxy-wide from functionally becoming a project of wealthy Centrist planets, from whose continents and credit accounts will flow every military officer and every military salary.

And, distasteful as compelled military participation is to Amilyn, she would much rather betray Gatalenta's values ever so slightly, than give such an extreme tactical advantage to the Centrists, if and when the inevitable fissuring of the Senate occurs.

"I understand," Tai-Lin interrupts, pacing back and forth within the frame of his holo. "But every single poll shows that this is an incredibly unpopular bill..."

"Oh, to hell with popularity," Amilyn pushes back. "You know it's the right thing to do. Don't turn into the worst kind of politician on me at a moment like this, Tai-Lin."

"I don't care about the polls because of electoral politics," Tai-Lin insists. "I care because the people of Gatalenta elected me to represent their best interests, and..."

"And in this case, the people of Gatalenta are refusing to recognize what their best interests are! You know how devastating it would be for the entire planet if the worst should come to pass, and we found ourselves staring down a fleet of Centrist-controlled New Republic ships."

"I can't believe that that will ever happen."

"Can't, or won't?"

Amilyn's arms are crossed stubbornly, and she glares through the screen at Tai-Lin, who is matching her scowl for scowl, his entire demeanor uncharacteristically taut.

"Did Leia put you up to this?" he asks finally.

"Absolutely not," Amilyn replies without hesitation. "I've just been listening to her speeches, and I think that she has a point. Surely you can see her perspective? Surely, if nothing else, you can understand that this is not a bill designed to force Gatalenta to abandon its principles, but rather a bill designed to ensure that Gatalenta commits to defending itself and its allies?"

"You've been in politics too long, Amilyn," smiles Tai-Lin grimly. "That was a very neat reframing of the argument. Senator Organa couldn't do better herself."

"This may be about her bill, but this isn't about her. This is about what's best for Gatalenta, not solely as a world unto itself, but as a planet in a galaxy that desperately needs democratic safeguards against abuses of power. Yes, your duty is to our planet first and foremost, Tai-Lin; but you also have a duty to the galaxy as a whole. And, in this case, I think that both obligations lead to the same conclusion, however unpopular at home."

Tai-Lin is silent for a long moment. Amilyn continues to stare steadily at him, polite but refusing to back down.

"The Mothers will never agree," he points out.

"Perhaps not. But, as I've said many times before, you represent Gatalenta every bit as much as they do."

"And that gives me license to vote according to my conscience?" Tai-Lin asks, his eyebrows rising skeptically.

"It gives you license to vote according to whatever reasoned conclusion you and your staff reach, after a thorough examination of the pros and cons inherent in the bill, and plenty of meditation," Amilyn answers smoothly.

Tai-Lin laughs.

"Well, we still have half an hour before the vote. I'll try to analyze the pros and cons and meditate on the potential consequences, between now and then. But I'd appreciate it if you spoke with the Council, as well. I want to be able to factor their views into my vote."

"I'll go talk to them, right now," Amilyn promises. "Maybe I'll be able to change their minds. Stranger things have happened."

"Once or twice, maybe." Tai-Lin's face grows serious once more. "I'll wait to hear from you."

Amilyn turns off her holoscreen, then hitches up the hem of her dress with one hand. Running in the Council House would be tantamount to blasphemy, so she walks as quickly as she can through the mural-painted hallways to the central chamber of the Mothers. But by the time she arrives, the door is sealed shut. The Mothers have already begun their twilight meditation, which ends each day of session, and Amilyn knows that the sky would quite literally have to be falling for her to be able to interrupt the session without putting her job at stake.

She glances at a time piece over the door. It's late, and virtually every other member of Council staff has already gone home. The Council's twilight meditation is short, but Amilyn can only spare a few minutes before she has to give Tai-Lin her answer, and she knows that she will not be able to consult with the Mothers before then. She closes her own eyes and takes a few deep breaths, wiling herself to calm down and feel the ebb and flow of the Force around her. The instant she convinces her mind to stop racing, she is able to immediately see the only course of action that she knows she can take.

Amilyn walks slowly away from the closed door of the central chamber. Her datapad buzzes, announcing a new message from Tai-Lin.

 _Has the Council changed its mind? The vote is about to begin._

Amilyn exhales slowly, then types three words.

 _Go for it._

The instant the message is sent, she feels almost buoyant, untethered from the pull of Gatalenta's gravity. It isn't a feeling of joy, but rather one of release, and probably also of disbelief that she has had the audacity to do what she has just done. She waits for Tai-Lin to respond, to ask what exactly she means, but he does not, and as the minutes go by, she feels some internal knot of conflict within her slowly unwind, coil by coil. She finds a screen in a secluded corner of the Council House and watches as the votes come in. Senator Tai-Lin Garr votes in support of Senator Leia Organa's defense funding bill. The legislation passes the Senate by only three votes.

Only then does Amilyn forward her brief correspondence with Tai-Lin to the Council.

She is cleaning out her desk in her deserted office when they summon her. The Mothers are seated in a semi-circle in their chamber, somehow managing to look imperious despite the austerity of their surroundings.

"What have you to say for yourself?"

"My message seems to have misled Senator Garr," Amilyn replies simply. "His vote on the defense funding bill was the result of my inability to communicate effectively. I am willing to accept full responsibility for this failure."

She bows low, her fluorescent red curls cascading past her face, feeling the hostile gazes of the entire Council on her as she does so.

"Very well," replies one Mother finally, and Amilyn straightens back up. "You are dismissed forthwith from the service of the Council of Mothers, and furthermore, banished from Gatalenta for a period of five years from this day, pending your good behavior. You will gather your belongings, resolve your affairs, and depart the planet within two weeks, or else face imprisonment for your actions. Do you understand?"

"I do," Amilyn answers.

"Then this conversation is finished."

The Mothers rise, one by one, and when the entire Council has risen to its feet, they turn their backs on Amilyn. She glances around at the emotionless wall of scarlet cloaks, then bows deeply once more.

"May the Force be with you all," she declares ironically.

And then Amilyn Holdo turns on her heel, walks serenely from the chamber with her head held high, and returns to her office, where she spends the rest of the evening sifting through and reassigning to her staff the accumulated detritus of twenty years' service to her planet.

She is across Gatalenta at her parents' house, saying her temporary goodbyes and trying her best to focus on meditation, when she finally musters the nerve to reach out to Tai-Lin.

"What were you thinking, Amilyn?" he demands, angrier than she has ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," she replies, and she means it. "I hope I didn't cause you any embarrassment."

"Embarrassment?! That's the last thing on my mind." Tai-Lin sighs impatiently. "You lied to me."

"I did no such thing." Amilyn crosses her arms. "I told you to go for it. It's a fairly neutral statement, and it in no way tried to indicate what the Mothers thought. I think it says quite a lot about where you were leaning inherently, that you assumed that that meant that the Mothers had sanctioned a yes vote on the bill."

"A very crafty choice of words, on your part."

"You could have asked for clarification, Tai-Lin. You didn't. I would never have intentionally deceived you."

Tai-Lin glowers at her.

"Has the Council retaliated against you in any way?" she asks.

"No. It seems that, between your forwarding of our correspondence, and my evident contrition for having voted against their wishes, they believed me when I told them honestly that I was not to blame."

"Contrition?" Amilyn raises her eyebrows. "You don't regret your vote, do you?"

Tai-Lin does not reply, and she understands his meaning regardless. The wind chimes dangling from the overhang of her parents' roof clink against each other in the soft breeze, sending crystalline notes out across the still surface of the lake on whose shore the house sits. The mountain that rises on the lake's opposite side is rendered nearly invisible by a thick layer of mist that hovers over the lake's glassy waters, and the wind chimes' tones become dampened in the mist. It's quiet here, so much quieter than her former busy life by the ever-surging sea.

"I would offer you a job in my office, here in the Senate," Tai-Lin says finally.

"But you already know that I wouldn't accept it."

Amilyn knows that Tai-Lin is telling the truth, but she also knows that they both have played this game long enough to know what is politically feasible and what is not.

"I'm thinking of traveling," she tells him instead. "There's so much of the galaxy that I haven't seen. I miss pathfinding, which I haven't really had time to do since I was a kid. Plus, after two decades of almost-continuous work, I think I deserve a bit of a break, don't you?"

Tai-Lin's mouth twitches into a shaky smile.

"Please forgive me, my friend," Amilyn says quietly.

"It was the right thing to do," Tai-Lin acknowledges. "I never would have had the courage to do what needed to be done, otherwise. I just wish that you hadn't had to sacrifice your own career for my sake. The prospect of having to do this job without you — that's what's truly making me so upset right now."

Amilyn hasn't felt a jot sorry for herself throughout this coda to her political life. The feeling of relief that washed over her the moment she made her decision to force Tai-Lin to vote his own conscience lingered, making her realize with every passing day how glad she was to finally be leaving the Council. Her team was excellent; she could count on them to keep things moving smoothly in her absence. But she had known deep down that her brashness would have its consequences for her colleagues, whom she would miss. And she should have anticipated how strongly her departure would aggrieve Tai-Lin.

"I'm planning to swing by Hosnian Prime for an evening, as the first stop on my travels of banishment. See you in a week or so?"

Tai-Lin nods, his eyes filled with tears. Amilyn shuts off her screen before she can truly regret what she has done.

Amilyn's apartment slowly empties, her clothes packed away, her furniture sold off. The day before she must leave Gatalenta for the foreseeable future, she stands in the center of her former living room, which looks somehow both bigger and smaller in the absence of anything but several trunks of clothes, which she will send to her parents that evening. Sunlight streams through the opened window, followed by the rush of the sea and the cries of gulls. She has a few hours to kill, and so she strolls wistfully down the familiar streets of her neighborhood, up and down steep hills, in and out of golden sun and purple shadows, lost in her thoughts.

She is surprised when she finds herself in front of the teahouse that her parents used to operate, near the main port. But fate clearly has led her there, so Amilyn steps inside and takes a look around.

The new owners have remodeled the teahouse tastefully; it's brighter and more streamlined than it had been when Amilyn was growing up. She has to acknowledge the appeal of the remodel, although nostalgia turns her instinctively against the alterations. Still, she walks forward and stands with her arms crossed, contemplating the menu on the wall behind the counter.

"I recommend the special," says the petite, dark woman behind the counter, gesturing to a small board on the counter. "Our own secret blend of leaves, imported from every corner of Gatalenta."

"Sounds perfect." Amilyn reaches for her purse, but the woman shakes her head, a smile on her face.

"It's on the house," she insists.

"Really? That's very kind of you."

Amilyn isn't sure if the woman is flirting with her or not. Normally, she'd be flattered, but she feels a bit too disoriented at the moment to respond with any real interest.

"It's the very least we can do, Amilyn," shrugs the woman as she unscrews an airtight container of tea and scoops a healthy dollop into a small teapot. "Word on the street is that we won't be seeing you for a while, which is a real pity. And we owe you so much."

A tall blonde woman with broad shoulders steps out from the doorway behind the other end of the counter, a tray of clean mugs in her hands.

"Look who's here, Arel!" calls the petite woman over her shoulder from where she is filling the teapot with steaming water. "And just in time for us to thank her!"

Arel smiles and nods to Amilyn before kneeling down to put the mugs on the teal shelves that line the wall.

"Don't mind my wife, she's not much of a talker," explains the petite woman, setting the teapot on the counter and holding out a hand. "I'm Cer, by the way. Cer Seastriker. I think we met once or twice when your parents were in the process of selling us the place."

"I must admit, I was surprised that you knew my name," says Amilyn, shaking Cer's hand.

"Well, you're not an easy person to forget." Cer grins. "And I mean that in the best way possible. Our boy's like you; he's always wanted to stand out. We worried about him for a long time, but after meeting you, and seeing how well you turned out, we stopped fretting so much and decided to just let him be himself."

Arel has finished putting away the clean mugs by now, and she stands and slides one across the counter towards Amilyn, her other arm comfortably settling around her wife's waist. Amilyn considers the pair, so very different from her own parents, and yet simultaneously so similar.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "That means a lot to me."

She dips her head for a moment, taking a moment to compose herself under the pretext of checking the strength of her brewing tea.

"How old is your son?" she asks. "Still in school?"

"About to leave us, actually," Cer sighs. "Our Joph's always wanted to become a military pilot, and he's suddenly become eligible for one of the newly created scholarships to attend the Academy."

Amilyn has been avoiding the news as much as possible recently, but she is not at all surprised that Gatalenta would immediately allocate its compulsory military spending towards scholarships instead of materiel or weapons research or salaries. The Mothers can pretend that scholarships to the Academy are about education, rather than about warfare, and Amilyn is just fine with this, as it means more Gatalentan officers for the fleet in the end, either way.

"That's wonderful. Congratulations."

"Thanks." Cer still looks slightly melancholy, but she cheers up slightly when Arel leans over and plants a swift kiss on her cheek, before quietly slipping back through the door from which she had entered. "Forgive my gloominess, please. Even if I'm already missing him, we're really so happy that he'll get to go live out his dreams. Yet another reason to thank you, if all of the rumors are true."

Amilyn says nothing as she pours out her tea into the mug, smiling just a bit to herself.

"Thank you for the tea," she adds. She sits on a bar stool at the counter and takes a sip that scalds her tongue but leaves a delicious rich flavor behind. "Mmm, this is delicious!"

"Glad you like it," Cer grins. "Tell your parents to swing by, if they're ever in town. We'd be happy to host them, too, if they need somewhere to stay."

"I'll let them know."

Amilyn remains there for a few minutes longer, quietly sipping her tea. She can remember sitting in this exact spot as a little girl, her shorter legs swinging in the air, watching customers greet each other and share a cup of tea and leave, the yellow bar of sunlight streaming through the upper window onto the wall moving slowly upwards as the afternoon waned. Nothing remains static forever, she knows, and perhaps this whole turn of events is just the cosmos telling her that it's time to move on to a new chapter in her life.

So the next day, she salutes the Gatalentan suns from her favorite spot on the beach at the foot of the Council House bluff. And then she hoists one small bag onto her shoulder and boards a ship for Hosnian Prime without looking back.

The Senate has only just established itself in its new headquarters, and final touches of construction are still being added to the corners of the Senatorial complex when Amilyn arrives. Everyone else around the main hangar is equally unfamiliar with the planet, so Amilyn wanders about for a bit before finally giving up. She is sitting in a courtyard, eating Ivarujari noodles from a little shop nearby, when she spies a familiar-looking figure wandering in her direction.

"Uh, excuse me?" The man stops in front of her. "Hi, sorry, I'm, uh, not all that familiar with the layout of this place, and I was wondering if you could..."

"Point you in the direction of the Alderaanian offices?" Amilyn puts the cover back onto her box of noodles and wipes her mouth with a napkin before standing and offering the stranger a slight bow. "I wish I could, Han, but I've been trying to find them myself for the past hour."

Han Solo furrows his brow in confusion, his hands settling defensively on his hips.

"Have we met?" he asks Amilyn.

"I'm actually shocked that we haven't, before now." She offers a hand. "Amilyn Holdo, of Gatalenta. Your wife and I have been friends for more than half our lives, by now."

Han's eyebrows shoot up.

" _You're_ Amilyn Holdo?" he repeats, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Not what you were expecting?"

"I wouldn't say that, exactly." The corner of Han's mouth quirks upwards. "Huh. Well, it's great to meet you, finally."

Amilyn quickly realizes why Leia has been so madly in love with Han Solo, all these years. As she and the ex-smuggler resume their search for Leia's offices, she can't help but delight in Han's bumbling bravado and self-assured charm. And when they finally stumble upon the Alderaanian offices and are led to the Senator by a bemused staffer, Amilyn is utterly unsurprised to see Leia's eyes light up at the sight of her husband.

"Hey, sweetheart," says Han with an easy grin as Leia rushes into his arms.

"You're late," Leia scolds him. "I was afraid you'd gotten stranded somewhere en route. Why didn't you call me?"

"Well, the comms in your new complex aren't completely set up to route calls yet, and I'm here now, aren't I?" Han gestures sideways towards Amilyn with his head. "Look who I found, on my way over."

Leia glances over at Amilyn, then gently extracts herself from Han's embrace. She takes a hesitant step towards Amilyn, her face tense with emotion.

"Hi," says Amilyn awkwardly.

"Oh, Amilyn," sighs Leia, taking her friend's hands. "I really don't know what to say. Thank you, I suppose. And I'm so, so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Amilyn insists, "and if Tai-Lin has been making you feel like it is, then I'll set him straight the instant I see him."

"He hasn't accused me of anything, other than of making an argument that won you both over." Leia smiles regretfully.

"It was my choice to make, Leia."

"I know. But that hasn't stopped me and Tai-Lin from wallowing in our collective misery over the whole situation."

Amilyn lets out a sigh that's halfway to a sympathetic chuckle.

"Um, did I miss something?" Han asks from behind Leia, scratching his head in confusion.

Since Han is home — and since the Senator from Gatalenta apparently wishes to indicate his displeasure with his home planet's government in the most passive-aggressive manner possible — Amilyn will be staying in the guest suite usually reserved for visiting Gatalentan diplomats, instead of at Leia's, like she usually does. But since the work day is almost over, and since Amilyn has brought so little anyway, it is decided that she'll meet up with Tai-Lin that evening, at a party that Varish Vicly is throwing because Han is back.

"Varish _loves_ Han," Leia explains to Amilyn.

"Easy to see why," Amilyn grins, and Leia smiles back appreciatively.

When they arrive at Varish's suite of rooms, Amilyn is amused to see that they are still very much as they exist in her memories from almost twenty years earlier — vibrantly colored, crystal-spangled, expensive and tasteful and crowded with politicians enjoying wine and conversation.

"Leia!" shouts Varish, bounding over towards the three of them as they arrive. "And the guest of honor! How are you, Han?"

"Doing well, Varish," Han shouts back over the din, returning the Loneran's long-limbed hug. "Thanks for organizing this shindig."

"Anything for you, General Solo," Varish teases him. "You should spend more time around the Senate, so I don't feel like I need to throw you a party whenever you come back home."

"Oh, don't listen to her," Leia laughs, punching Han playfully in the shoulder. "It doesn't take much to make Varish want to throw a party; she hosted one when Ben lost his first tooth, for goodness' sake. You're more of a convenient excuse, than anything else."

"And this," Han concludes, throwing an arm around his wife, "is why I don't spend more time around the Senate."

"You remember my friend Amilyn?" Leia asks Varish. "If I recall correctly, she was here for one of your earliest parties."

"Your first, I think," Amilyn adds, nodding to Varish in acknowledgement.

"Ah, yes, I think I do recall. Gatalentan, right? Great to see you again, and please do enjoy, all of you."

Varish winks at Han, then bounds off to go see to her other guests. Leia and Han quickly get wrapped up in other conversations, with old friends who are equally delighted to see Han back on-planet. Amilyn quietly disengages from them and circles the room while nursing a glass of wine, keeping an eye out for Tai-Lin.

"Welcome back, Snow Owl," says a quiet voice from behind Amilyn, and she turns to see Mon Mothma seated at a table.

"Senator," Amilyn replies.

Mon Mothma's face is gaunt, and she looks so much more frail than Amilyn remembers. The transformation seems driven by far more than just age, and Amilyn's heart sinks as she remembers what Leia had said about the former Chancellor's compromised health. But Mon Mothma bears herself as regally as always, and she now greets Amilyn with a smile and a nod. Amilyn interprets this as an invitation, so she takes a seat at the table and sets down her wine.

"How have you been?" she asks.

"I've seen better days," Mon Mothma replies honestly. "I swore to myself when I was younger that I'd never reach the point of saying that I was too old for this game, but age and the changing times are conspiring to prove me wrong."

"From what we hear on Gatalenta, you're still a tremendously influential Senator..."

"That's kind of you to say, but I think that any influence that I have is retrospective, not forward-thinking." Mon Mothma smiles mirthlessly. "I don't know how familiar you are with the personnel of the current legislature, but I look around this room, and one thing is immediately evident to me: It's a completely partisan party. No Centrists to be seen. And it's not that I'd necessarily expect Ransolm Casterfo or Carise Sindian to show up, if invited, but I suspect that Varish never even asked them, in the first place. When we formed this Senate, back after the war, everyone socialized with everyone, and everyone expected to be able to work together. Why would the newest and youngest members of the body ever think that that could be the case, if from their earliest days, they're taught to only associate with those who agree with them, and never even hear the other side of the story? More than anything else, I fear that our government will be doomed by the sort of ideological rigidity that develops from that lack of communication."

She stops to take a deep, shuddering breath, as if her calm anger has winded her. Amilyn watches her, concerned.

"Can I get you water, or anything...?"

"No, no thank you," gasps Mon Mothma.

Amilyn waits for a few moments, tense in her chair, until the older woman regains her breath.

"By the way," Mon Mothma adds finally, "I was very sorry to hear about what transpired around the defense funding vote. Leia and Tai-Lin both told me, separately. I hope that you don't mind?"

"No, not at all."

"Five years of banishment, for one instance of savvy political maneuvering? That seems a bit harsh."

"Clearly, Senator, you haven't spent much time on Gatalenta. Our culture prizes peace and tranquility very highly. What I did was tantamount to treason, in the eyes of our Council of Mothers. I'm surprised I got off as lightly as I did."

"Hmm." Mon Mothma searches Amilyn's face. "I learned a lot about leadership as Chancellor, needless to say, and much of what I learned was about finding consensus and compromise between factions. Having just discussed my concerns about ideological rigidity, I doubt it will surprise you to hear that I considered my job well done, if by the end of any sort of mediation, most parties were happy and the ideologically inflexible parties were furious."

Amilyn smiles. She's not sure if anyone has been made happy by the defense spending bill, but she understands what Mon Mothma is trying to tell her.

"Tai-Lin might be too lost in his grief at losing you to mention it, but he's incredibly grateful that you were willing to take the fall for his vote," Mon Mothma says gently.

"It wouldn't have been fair if he had faced punishment of any sort," Amilyn replies automatically.

"Perhaps, but it's even less fair that you're facing the consequences. After all, you didn't tell him how to vote. You merely helped him get out of his own way and be true to himself. Tai-Lin Garr has solid political instincts and the best of intentions; I haven't worked with as generous and measured a Senator since Bail Organa was still with us. He's as good a politician as this galaxy has ever seen, and sometimes he just needs to be manipulated into following his own lead."

Mon Mothma breaks off, smiling, as Tai-Lin Garr himself approaches the table.

"Senator Mothma," he says, bowing. "It's good to see you."

"And you, Senator Garr," replies Mon Mothma with a nod.

Tai-Lin turns toward Amilyn, who stands.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to disrupt your conversation," he says.

"Not at all." Mon Mothma turns towards Amilyn, still seated ramrod-straight in her chair. "Farewell, Snow Owl. Thank you for your years of service to your planet, and to the galaxy. May you find fulfillment wherever life takes you next, and may the Force be with you."

Amilyn bows deeply, then follows Tai-Lin through the throng.

"Have you been here long?" he asks.

"Not very. You?"

"I was about to leave," Tai-Lin admits, "but I wanted to make sure that you knew where the Gatalentan Senatorial complex was, before I left."

"I'll come with you," says Amilyn immediately. As little as she regrets the decisions that have led to her banishment, her heart is too heavy to enjoy this party as much as she would like. It would be one thing if she could introduce herself to strangers as a representative from Gatalenta, but now she doesn't even know what she is, or whether she belongs in the glamorous but treacherous world of politics anymore. Besides, although she knows that Leia is genuinely happy to see her, Amilyn doesn't want to complicate Han's homecoming with her presence. She'll catch up with Leia some other time.

So she follows Tai-Lin through the darkened paths of the still-developing Senatorial complex, up stairwells and across courtyards, until they finally reach a suite of rooms decorated in the soothing neutral tones of their home planet. Amilyn sets her bag down on the couch in the living space and walks towards a sliding glass door that leads out into a courtyard beyond. It opens with a soft _swoosh_ as she approaches, and she steps out into the moonlight, Tai-Lin following her quietly.

The courtyard is designed like a typical meditation garden back home, one that any visiting Gatalentan would find completely familiar. A small fountain empties into a pool that stretches the far length of the courtyard, and a labyrinth in black and white stone is laid out in its center, identical to the one at the Council House on Gatalenta.

Amilyn walks to the center of the labyrinth and turns to face Tai-Lin. Without a word, he joins her, and the two retreat to their respective entrances and silently walk a final labyrinth together under an unfamiliar moon, the sound of the sea replaced by the trickle of a fountain. They meet once more at the center, and Amilyn lays her hands on top of Tai-Lin's as they close their eyes. But Tai-Lin unexpectedly breaks protocol by closing his hands around hers, then leaning forward so that their foreheads are touching. They stand there for a long moment, two beings bathed in moonlight, a whisper of night breeze lapping at the hems of his scarlet cloak and her flowing dress.

"I can never thank you adequately for everything that you have given me," whispers Tai-Lin as he finally steps back, his hands still clasped around Amilyn's. "And I will miss you more than I can say."

"I won't be gone forever," Amilyn reminds him, although it feels as if her heart is breaking. "Life will go on, and you'll get by fine without me."

"Yes, although I know that I will ask myself day after day what you would say, if you were there with me." Tai-Lin smiles through his tears. "And of course I'll still have Leia, but it will take time to adjust to your absence. After all, a pilot generally needs two other reliable points of reference to navigate successfully, and I am about to lose one of mine."

"It's funny, Mon Mothma was just telling me that she thinks you need to trust yourself to do the right thing more often."

"I will try, now that you've shown me that I can. And if I ever need to summon the courage to stand against popular opinion, it will likely only be because of your example."

Tai-Lin pauses, then releases Amilyn's hands so that he can pull a box from within his robes. He offers it to Amilyn on upturned palms.

"Leia helped me pick these out for you, but since I don't think you'll see her before you leave tomorrow, I might as well give them to you now."

Curious, Amilyn lifts the lid off the box and gasps at the beautiful silver cuff bracelets within. She pulls them out and slips them on, turning her wrists so that the designs glint in the moonlight.

"They're maps," she remarks, her throat constricting with emotion.

"Of the constellations as seen from Gatalenta," Tai-Lin nods. "So that you can easily navigate your way back home, when the time is right."

* * *

Amilyn travels light and wanders far, directionless and searching for something that she cannot define. She scales mountains and hikes across deserts perilous enough to impress even Chief Pangie, meditates deep in the hearts of ancient forests, explores the nooks and crannies of bustling cities whose native languages she cannot understand. She does not bother to dye her hair on her travels, and the color soon fades to her natural blonde, which, she is interested to see, is now threaded with the occasional strand of silver.

A year passes, then two, then three. Amilyn is fascinated by all that she sees and learns more than she had ever hoped to know. She enjoys it all immensely, and whenever she lets herself remember why this sort of a vagabond lifestyle is not enough to make her truly happy, she packs up her small bag and hurtles into another adventure to distract herself.

It is during her fourth year of exile that she begins to hear disturbing rumblings from the political world that she has left behind. The first is that Mon Mothma has finally retired, too ill to fulfill her duties as a Senator. Amilyn hears the rumor from a passenger on a transport to a jungle planet so remote and technologically primitive that she is not able to find a comlink when she lands on its wild surface. (She has no personal comlink of her own, having turned her work-issued one back over to the Council.)

Then, some time later, she is in a small restaurant in a small town on a vast and desolate moor when she spots footage on the holo in the corner of the room that makes her gasp. Her heart pounds frantically as she rushes to the holo and fumbles with its controls until the language switches to Basic, and she collapses into a chair with relief when she hears a reporter say that no one has been killed or seriously injured in the so-called Napkin Bombing. She manages to communicate to the owner of the restaurant that she wishes to use his comlink, and he finally agrees to let her place one call. The connection is bad, but she is fairly certain that Tai-Lin will receive her message and relay it to Leia, as well.

When she finishes a days-long spelunking expedition several weeks later, she arrives at the planet's main port to find it buzzing with whispered news. At first, she refuses to believe it; then she manages to find a holo and turn it to an informational channel whose reporting makes her sink to her knees in confusion. Leia is no longer in the running for First Senator. Leia is no longer even secure in her position in the Senate. Leia has confirmed that she is the biological child of the man who became Darth Vader, and while this does throw Amilyn for a moment or two, the revelation is not nearly as shocking to her as the fact that a woman who has dedicated her life to the Senate should become so reviled overnight, for something that has hurt no one and that she could not even control. Amilyn thinks for a moment about the few times she saw Leia with Bail Organa — Leia's adopted father, Leia's _real_ father — and she isn't sure whether she wants to laugh or to cry about the whole absurd situation.

The only thing about any of this that makes sense to Amilyn is a sentence that catches her eye as it runs across the news ticker on the holo: _Senator Tai-Lin Garr (P-Gatalenta) pledges continued "personal friendship and political support" for Organa_. Through her disbelief, Amilyn smiles. So Tai-Lin has found his courage when he needed it, after all, even in her absence. It is the one thought that sustains her as she boards yet another ship and hurtles off into the starry skies.

And then the unthinkable occurs.

At first it feels as if the ground has suddenly dropped out from beneath her feet, as if she has been unexpectedly ejected from an airlock into the vacuum of space, as if she is suspended in an unsettling dream that _must_ eventually end but instead continues and continues and continues. It is like the destruction of Alderaan all over again, except this time, the void that is left is not existential but unspeakably personal. Time stops for Amilyn; days become indistinguishable in her numbness. She purchases a series of rides that will take her all the way back across the galaxy by the fastest routes, knowing that it will still be months before she reaches the Galactic Core. She still breathes and eats and sleeps (or tries to), but she feels nothing. The world around her does not feel real, cannot feel real, because it is easier to feel nothing than it would be to feel the pain that she knows is waiting for her at the end of this long, dark tunnel that she walks.

Finally, two weeks after her the formal end to her period of exile from Gatalenta, she disembarks on Hosnian Prime and wanders numbly through the hangar.

"Directions to Senator Leia Organa's offices, please," she says to a passing droid.

"Negative," the droid whirs. "Leia Organa is no longer a member of the Galactic Senate."

 _Oh_ , thinks Amilyn to herself. Her mind feels blurry; it's been nearly a year now since she has meditated, her suppressed grief too overwhelming to permit the kind of focus that meditation requires. She feels as if the universe is playing some sort of massive joke on her.

Fortunately, the universe's sense of humor is not uniformly cruel.

"Excuse me, did you say you were looking for Leia Organa?" asks a voice behind her.

Amilyn turns and tries to smile normally at the earnest-looking, sandy-haired young pilot staring at her.

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

Amilyn may not be able to feel much these days, but she bristles with annoyance nonetheless at being questioned by this young man who is barely more than a child.

"Because she's an old friend, and I need her help," she snaps, and then her throat catches on her words. It's true, she does need Leia's help, but she doesn't know what exactly that means. Not even Leia can make things right again. Not even the scion of a family strong in the Force could bring back the dead.

"I apologize," she says to the pilot. "I'll... I'll find some other way to contact her, I suppose."

She bows to him politely in her distraction, then wanders back across the hangar, looking for a ship chartered for Gatalenta (although why would there be a ship to Gatalenta, when Gatalenta has yet to elect a new Senator and its delegation on Hosnian Prime must be meager, at best?). It takes her a few minutes to realize that the sandy-haired pilot is following her.

"Where are you heading?" he asks when she finally turns to confront him.

 _None of your business_ , she wants to reply, but instead she tells him.

"Oh!" The pilot looks unexpectedly delighted. "I'm actually going there myself. I don't know if you need a ride...?"

Amilyn is about to point out the obvious fact that she wouldn't be looking at ships if she didn't need a ride, but she again bites back her sarcasm and accepts.

"Great." The pilot grins at her. "I'm Joph, by the way. Joph..."

"Seastriker," Amilyn finishes his sentence with him as the pieces fall into place. When he blinks at her in confusion, she explains, "I know your mothers. Or, at least, I knew them. They bought my parents' old teahouse."

Joph Seastriker's eyes widen.

"Amilyn Holdo?" he confirms, and when Amilyn nods, his jaw tightens resolutely. "Let's get you back to Gatalenta, and then I'll do everything that I can to help you get a message to Senator Organa."

Amilyn hasn't spent much of her time in exile missing Gatalenta, but when Joph's ship drops out of hyperspace and the swirling blue-and-green surface of her home planet materializes before her, it is as if some internal dam is breached, and she sinks into a chair, weeping. Joph pretends not to notice, and he calmly steers the ship down to the surface of the planet, then gives Amilyn all the time she needs to collect herself before asking if she's ready to disembark. The streets around the landing port — the streets of her childhood — are exactly as she remembers them from almost four years ago, bordered by tidy houses that press up against each other's sides as they ramble up and down the slopes of hills. It comforts Amilyn to encounter something so familiar in the midst of her unending waking nightmare.

Joph has sent word to his mothers in advance that he is bringing Amilyn along, so they are not surprised to see her. After Cer has greeted her son, she takes Amilyn by the hand and leads her up the back stairs of the teahouse to the tidy guest room that once served as a bedroom for Joph (and, before that, for Amilyn herself). Arel has already made up the bed with fresh sheets and left a tray of food and a steaming pot of tea on the bedside stand. When Amilyn insists that she doesn't want to impose and can find somewhere to stay downtown, Cer brushes aside her protestations.

"It is our honor to have you stay as a guest, for as long as it takes Joph to find Leia Organa," she tells Amilyn.

And Amilyn bows her head in gratitude, for even though she is less instantly recognizable without her signature bright hair, it wouldn't take long for her status as a recent exile to become apparent, and that is the last thing that she wants to face at this time.

Joph departs, and Amilyn's life quickly falls into a quiet but manageable routine. At her own insistence, she helps the Seastrikers with the behind-the-scenes elements of running a teahouse that she remembers so well from her childhood — balancing account books, washing dishes, laundering napkins and towels, sorting bags of tea leaves, mixing and restocking blends. Some nights, she eats with Cer and Arel; other nights, she eats alone in her room, and is grateful that they respect her need for solitude without taking offense. Amilyn knows that she could and probably should go visit her own parents across the planet, but she isn't sure that she can bear to let them see her when she is still so damaged, and so holds off on letting them know that she has returned to Gatalenta.

She quickly discovers in the closet of Joph's old bedroom the flight simulator that she herself had bought, once upon a time when her one ambition was to become Leia's ace pilot in the Rebel fleet. The Seastrikers explain that the Holdos had given it to Joph when they moved out of the teahouse, and they both seem oddly tickled when Amilyn asks if she may put it to use once more. Her evenings become a whirl of simulated runs and maneuvers and battles from the cockpit of a virtual X-wing. It turns out that flying, rather than meditation, is the one thing on which Amilyn is actually able to focus.

And then, one day, Leia appears.

Amilyn is leaving the storage unit, having counted all of the new bags of tea and ensured that the delivery was complete and the bags were properly sealed. She closes the door behind her, locks it with a key, and when she turns around, Leia is standing in the center of the Seastrikers' backyard.

"Amilyn," she says softly, and Amilyn practically throws herself at Leia, sobbing into her friend's hair as Leia buries her face in Amilyn's shoulder and grieves with her.

Cer wants to feed Leia a proper lunch and the best tea that they have to offer, but Leia politely declines the invitation, promising to come back that evening. Amilyn knows that Leia could probably use some refreshment, but both women also know from Amilyn's war years that they cannot have any sort of conversation around the teahouse without fear of being overheard. Instead, Leia proposes that they go to the memorial garden that has been dedicated to Tai-Lin near the Council House, and Amilyn — who has avoided going anywhere near the Council House since her arrival back on Gatalenta — reasons that she can overcome any and all of her qualms, if Leia is with her.

They say very little to one another as they make their way downtown and to the Council House, especially after Amilyn makes the mistake of asking about how Leia's family is doing. Leia goes quiet for a very long time, and then explains in a low, tight voice that Luke has disappeared, Han has left, and something has happened to Ben that she can't discuss at the moment. Amilyn is shocked, and moreover feels foolish; however sincere her own despair is, it cannot compare to what Leia is experiencing right now.

But the full force of Amilyn's grief returns the instant she and Leia step into the memorial garden. It is situated just outside the Council House on the top of the bluff, not far from the steps that lead down the cliff face to the beach, and not far from the outer entrance to the courtyard in which she and Tai-Lin had walked the labyrinth together so often. A still pool sits at the center of the garden, surrounded by gravel walkways and stone benches and lace maples and great stones with moss clinging to their faces. An enormous old conifer extends lazily over the pool's surface, its branches reflected in the stillness of the water.

Leia leads Amilyn to a bench by a small fountain on one side of the garden, where their conversation will not be overheard by any electronic surveillance over the fountain's trickle, and where they can easily keep watch over the rest of the garden to see if anyone is approaching. The princess sits, but Amilyn does not join her. Instead, she wanders through the garden, her hand running along the wooden railings of the small bridge that crosses the far end of the pool. A carved stone at one end of the bridge reads, _In memory of Tai-Lin Garr, Senator to the Galactic Republic_. Amilyn lays her hand on the stone's rough surface, closes her eyes, and says her goodbyes.

Leia is still waiting patiently for Amilyn when the Gatalentan finally returns to the bench and sits down. For a minute, the two women simply stare out over the beauty of the garden. The sea air is filled with the faint scent of salt and, beyond the gurgle of the nearby fountain, the rumbling of the tides. Three lace maple leaves have drifted onto the waters of the pool, and they rest suspended on its glassy surface, circling ever so slowly towards each other, propelled by underwater currents invisible from above.

"How do you bear it?" Amilyn asks finally. "I feel like my entire world has fallen apart with the death of one person I love. And yet you have lost so much more. Your family; your parents; your _entire planet_. I've seen the footage of you, kneeling over Tai-Lin's body only seconds after he was murdered. You lost him just as much as I did that day, perhaps even more intensely. And yet you still find the strength to go on. How do you do it, Leia? How are you able to take so much loss?"

By now, she is practically pleading with Leia through her tears, desperate to learn how to heal the wound that has been dealt to her. Unbidden, she recalls the first time she ever set eyes on Leia Organa, when they were carefree and careless teenagers, when Amilyn Holdo had been foolish and innocent enough to speak nonchalantly about the glamorous allure of danger, about wanting to get more comfortable with the nearness and inevitability of death. She wonders if Leia recalls those words just as clearly, if she will scornfully hurl Amilyn's youthful bravado in her face for being so weak now.

But Leia instead brushes a damp strand of hair from Amilyn's tear-stained cheek and tucks it gently behind her ear.

"You were there when I experienced my first real loss," Leia says quietly. "When Kier died, I was so sure that I would never be happy again. But fortunately I had my parents to support me, and you, and all of our friends. You all reminded me that I had something to live for."

"And what was that?" Amilyn whispers.

Leia smiles.

"Alderaan," she replies. "The beautiful planet that Kier had died trying to save. And then, when Alderaan was destroyed, I pulled through by telling myself that my father and my mother had sacrificed everything that they had — their planet and their citizens and their very lives — for the sake of liberating the galaxy. So through every loss that I have suffered since, through every sacrifice that I have had to make, I've reminded myself that I have to keep on going, to keep on fighting, because it's now my responsibility to continue their fight. Rather than letting the pain cripple me with grief, I force it to motivate me that much more to defend the ideals that my loved ones died to preserve."

Amilyn nods slowly.

"You reframe the issue."

Leia looks out across the pool, her gaze distant, although Amilyn knows that she is still acutely aware of every element of their surroundings.

"We never won the wars that we thought had ended decades ago," Leia murmurs. "Not conclusively enough that they were ever truly over. The Amaxine warriors were just a taste of what is to come, and we will need to resist what follows them, with everything we have. I've already set some initiatives in motion, but I'm only one person, and I need people I can trust to help with logistics, recruitment, and planning. Amilyn, I know that you are grieving for Tai-Lin, and I don't ask you to rush that process. But, when the time is right, can I ask you to join me? Can I ask you to help me save what he loved?"

Amilyn Holdo is no stranger to resistance. She has spent her entire life resisting Gatalenta's norms of tranquility, the Council of Mothers' isolationism, even the Empire (in her own removed way). She has always defined herself relative to external factors, even in times of peace. Being untethered and alone during her years of exile has shown her that she needs such points of comparison to be able to locate where and who she is; what she sought during her travels, she now realizes, was a sense of purpose that could only be found by reorienting herself amidst the infuriating but defined knowns of her previous life.

As she glances down at the bracelets that Tai-Lin gave her, that Leia helped select, Amilyn realizes that the only time that such relative definition has not felt like a stark act of binary rebellion was during the years that she spent navigating the vacuum of politics with Leia Organa and Tai-Lin Garr. A triangle, after all, is a notoriously balanced and strong shape. And Amilyn knows from Leia's words that even in death, Tai-Lin will remain a reference point for her, now and always.

By now, Amilyn knows that she can no longer be a spy. Gatalenta will not be regarded as a neutral world, if — or, rather, when — the Republic fractures, not given how close Tai-Lin and Leia were known to be. If Amilyn is going to join Leia's Resistance, she intends to do it as a fighter, to fulfill her childhood ambitions. She knows herself well enough to trust that this time, she will not hesitate to pull the trigger, if called to do so.

And so tomorrow, she will once more dye her hair a rebellious shade of lavender, her period of exile and purposelessness finally over. Tomorrow, she will thank the Seastrikers and make plans to go visit her parents briefly, before she follows Leia back into a war that never ended. Tomorrow, she will put aside her mourning for Tai-Lin Garr and dedicate the rest of her life to saving the democracy that he loved with all his heart.

She takes Leia's hands.

"Tell me how I can help," she says. "I'm ready."


End file.
